GIFT  OF 
Class   of  1900 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE 
HILLS. 


BY 

BRET  HARTE 
» 


BOSTON   AND   NEW   YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND   COMPANY 

«??,  <£ambri&0e 

1895 


V3, 


Copyright,  1895, 
BY  BRET   HARTE. 

All  rights  reserved. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge,  Mass.,  V.  S.  A. 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  &  Co. 


IN   A   HOLLOW  OF   THE   HILLS. 


CHAPTER   I. 

IT  was  very  dark,  and  the  wind  was  in 
creasing.  The  last  gust  had  been  preceded 
by  an  ominous  roaring  down  the  whole 
mountain  -  side,  which  continued  for  some 
time  after  the  trees  in  the  little  valley  had 
lapsed  into  silence.  The  air  was  filled  with 
a  faint,  cool,  sodden  odor,  as  of  stirred  for 
est  depths.  In  those  intervals  of  silence 
the  darkness  seemed  to  increase  in  propor 
tion  and  grow  almost  palpable.  Yet  out  of 
this  sightless  and  soundless  void  now  came 
the  tinkle  of  a  spur's  rowels,  the  dry  crack 
ling  of  saddle  leathers,  and  the  muffled 
plunge  of  a  hoof  in  the  thick  carpet  of  dust 
and  desiccated  leaves.  Then  a  voice,  which 
in  spite  of  its  matter-of-fact  reality  the  ob 
scurity  lent  a  certain  mystery  to,  said :  - 
"  I  can't  make  out  anything !  Where 

260319 


2  IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

the  devil  have  we  got  to,  anyway  ?  It 's  as 
black  as  Tophet,  here  ahead !  " 

"  Strike  a  light  and  make  a  flare  with 
something,"  returned  a  second  voice.  "  Look 
where  you  're  shoving  to  —  now  —  keep 
your  horse  off,  will  ye." 

There  was  more  muffled  plunging,  a 
silence,  the  rustle  of  paper,  the  quick  spurt 
of  a  match,  and  then  the  uplifting  of  a  flick 
ering  flame.  But  it  revealed  only  the  heads 
and  shoulders  of  three  horsemen,  framed 
within  a  nebulous  ring  of  light,  that  still  left 
their  horses  and  even  their  lower  figures  in 
impenetrable  shadow.  Then  the  flame  leaped 
up  and  died  out  with  a  few  zigzagging 
sparks  that  were  falling  to  the  ground,  when 
a  third  voice,  that  was  low  but  somewhat 
pleasant  in  its  cadence,  said :  — 

"  Be  careful  where  you  throw  that.  You 
were  careless  last  time.  With  this  wind  and 
the  leaves  like  tinder,  you  might  send  a  fur 
nace  blast  through  the  woods." 

"  Then  at  least  we  'd  see  where  we  were." 

Nevertheless,  he  moved  his  horse,  whose 
trampling  hoofs  beat  out  the  last  fallen  spark. 
Complete  darkness  and  silence  again  fol 
lowed.  Presently  the  first  speaker  con 
tinued  :  — 


^  * 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.  3 

"  I  reckon  we  '11  have  to  wait  here  till  the 
next  squall  clears  away  the  scud  from  the 
sky.  Hello!  What's  that?" 

Out  of  the  obscurity  before  them  ap 
peared  a  faint  light,  —  a  dim  but  perfectly 
defined  square  of  radiance,  —  which,  how 
ever,  did  not  appear  to  illuminate  anything' 
around  it.  Suddenly  it  disappeared. 

"  That 's  a  house  —  it 's  a  light  in  a  win 
dow,"  said  the  second  voice. 

"House  be  d — d!"  retorted  the  first 
speaker.  "  A  house  with  a  window  on  Gal 
loper's  Ridge,  fifteen  miles  from  anywhere  ? 
You  're  crazy  !  " 

Nevertheless,  from  the  muffled  plunging 
and  tinkling  that  followed,  they  seemed  to 
be  moving  in  the  direction  where  the  light 
had  appeared.  Then  there  was  a  pause. 

"  There  's  nothing  but  a  rocky  outcrop 
here,  where  a  house  could  n't  stand,  and 
we  're  off  the  trail  again,"  said  the  first 
speaker  impatiently. 

"  Stop  !  —  there  it  is  again  !  " 

The  same  square  of  light  appeared  once 
more,  but  the  horsemen  had  evidently  di 
verged  in  the  darkness,  for  it  seemed  to  be  in 
a  different  direction.  But  it  was  more  dis- 


4  IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

tinct,  and  as  they  gazed  a  shadow  appeared 
upon  its  radiant  surface  —  the  profile  of  a 
human  face.  Then  the  light  suddenly  went 
out,  and  the  face  vanished  with  it. 

"  It  is  a  window,  and  there  was  some  one 
behind  it,"  said  the  second  speaker  emphat 
ically. 

"  It  was  a  woman's  face,"  said  the  plea 
sant  voice. 

"  Whoever  it  is,  just  hail  them,  so  that 
we  can  get  our  bearings.  Sing  out !  All 
together ! " 

The  three  voices  rose  in  a  prolonged 
shout,  in  which,  however,  the  distinguishing 
quality  of  the  pleasant  voice  was  sustained. 
But  there  was  no  response  from  the  dark 
ness  beyond.  The  shouting  was  repeated 
after  an  interval  with  the  same  result :  the 
silence  and  obscurity  remained  unchanged. 

"  Let 's  get  out  of  this,"  said  the  first 
speaker  angrily ;  "  house  or  no  house,  man 
or  woman,  we  're  not  wanted,  and  we  '11 
make  nothing  waltzing  round  here  !  " 

44  Hush  !  "  said  the  second  voice.  "  Sh-h  ! 
Listen." 

The  leaves  of  the  nearest  trees  were  trill 
ing  audibly.  Then  came  a  sudden  gust  that 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.  5 

swept  the  fronds  of  the  taller  ferns  into 
their  faces,  and  laid  the  thin,  lithe  whips  of 
alder  over  their  horses'  flanks  sharply.  It 
was  followed  by  the  distant  sea-like  roaring 
of  the  mountain-side. 

"  That 's  a  little  more  like  it!  "  said  the 
first  speaker  joyfully.  "  Another  blow  like 
that  and  we  're  all  right.  And  look ! 
there 's  a  lightenin'  up  over  the  trail  we 
came  by." 

There  was  indeed  a  faint  glow  in  that 
direction,  like  the  first  suffusion  of  dawn, 
permitting  the  huge  shoulder  of  the  moun 
tain  along  whose  flanks  they  had  been  jour 
neying  to  be  distinctly  seen.  The  sodden 
breath  of  the  stirred  forest  depths  was 
slightly  tainted  with  an  acrid  fume. 

"  That 's  the  match  you  threw  away  two 
hours  ago,"  said  the  pleasant  voice  delib 
erately.  "  It 's  caught  the  dry  brush  in  the 
trail  round  the  bend." 

"  Anyhow,  it 's  given  us  our  bearings, 
boys,"  said  the  first  speaker,  with  satisfied 
accents.  "  We  're  all  right  now ;  and  the 
wind's  lifting  the  sky  ahead  there.  For 
ward  now,  all  together,  and  let 's  get  out  of 
this  hell-hole  while  we  can !  " 


6  iy  A  HOLLOW  OF   THE  HILLS. 

It  was  so  much  lighter  that  the  bulk  of 
each  horseman  could  be  seen  as  they  moved 
forward  together.  But  there  was  no  thin 
ning  of  the  obscurity  on  either  side  of  them. 
Nevertheless  the  profile  of  the  horseman 
with  the  pleasant  voice  seemed  to  be  occa 
sionally  turned  backward,  and  he  suddenly 
checked  his  horse. 

"  There  's  the  window  again  !  "  he  said. 
"  Look  I.  There  —  it 's  gone  again." 

"  Let  it  go  and  be  d — d !  "  returned  the 
leader.  "  Come  on." 

They  spurred  forward  in  silence.  It  was 
not  long  before  the  wayside  trees  began  to 
dimly  show  spaces  between  them,  and  the 
ferns  to  give  way  to  lower,  thick-set  shrubs, 
which  in  turn  yielded  to  a  velvety  moss, 
with  long  quiet  intervals  of  netted  and  tan 
gled  grasses.  The  regular  fall  of  the  horses' 
feet  became  a  mere  rhythmic  throbbing. 
Then  suddenly  a  single  hoof  rang  out  sharply 
on  stone,  and  the  first  speaker  reined  in 
slightly. 

"  Thank  the  Lord  we  're  on  the  ridge 
now  !  and  the  rest  is  easy.  Tell  you  what, 
though,  boys,  now  we  're  all  right,  I  don't 
mind  saying  that  I  did  n't  take  no  stock  in 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.  7 

that  blamed  corpse  light  down  there.  If 
there  ever  was  a  will-o'-the-wisp  on  a  square 
up  mountain,  that  was  one.  It  was  n't  no 
window !  Some  of  ye  thought  ye  saw  a  face 
too  —  eh  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  a  rather  pretty  one,"  said  the 
pleasant  voice  meditatively. 

"  That 's  the  way  they  'd  build  that  sort 
of  thing,  of  course.  It 's  lucky  ye  had 
to  satisfy  yourself  with  looking.  Gosh  !  I 
feel  creepy  yet,  thinking  of  it !  What  are 
ye  looking  back  for  now  like  Lot's  wife  ? 
Blamed  if  I  don't  think  that  face  bewitched 

ye." 

"  I  was  only  thinking  about  that  fire  you 
started,"  returned  the  other  quietly.  "I 
don't  see  it  now." 

«  Well  —  if  you  did  ?  " 

"  I  was  wondering  whether  it  could  reach 
that  hollow." 

"  I  reckon  that  hollow  could  take  care  of 
any  casual  nat'rel  fire  that  came  boomin' 
along,  and  go  two  better  every  time !  Why, 
I  don't  believe  there  was  any  fire  ;  it  was 
all  a  piece  of  that  infernal  ignis  fatuus 
phantasmagoriana  that  was  played  upon  us 
down  there  !  " 


8  IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

With  the  laugh  that  followed  they  started 
forward  again,  relapsing  into  the  silence  of 
tired  men  at  the  end  of  a  long  journey. 
Even  their  few  remarks  were  inter jectional, 
or  reminiscent  of  topics  whose  freshness  had 
been  exhausted  with  the  day.  The  gaining 
light  which  seemed  to  come  from  the  ground 
about  them  rather  than  from  the  still,  over 
cast  sky  above,  defined  their  individuality 
more  distinctly.  The  man  who  had  first 
spoken,  and  who  seemed  to  be  their  leader, 
wore  the  virgin  unshaven  beard,  mustache, 
and  flowing  hair  of  the  Californiaii  pioneer, 
and  might  have  been  the  eldest ;  the  second 
speaker  was  close  shaven,  thin,  and  ener 
getic  ;  the  third,  with  the  pleasant  voice,  in 
height,  litheness,  and  suppleness  of  figure 
appeared  to  be  the  youngest  of  the  party. 
The  trail  had  now  become  a  grayish  streak 
along  the  level  table-land  they  were  follow 
ing,  which  also  had  the  singular  effect  of 
appearing  lighter  than  the  surrounding  land 
scape,  yet  of  plunging  into  utter  darkness 
on  either  side  of  its  precipitous  walls. 
Nevertheless,  at  the  end  of  an  hour  the 
leader  rose  in  his  stirrups  with  a  sigh  of 
satisfaction. 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

"There's  the  light  in  Collinson's  Mill! 
There's  nothing  gaudy  and  spectacular 
about  that,  boys,  eh?  No,  sir!  it 's  a  square, 
honest  beacon  that  a  man  can  steer  by. 
We  '11  be  there  in  twenty  minutes."  He 
was  pointing  into  the  darkness  below  the 
already  descending  trail.  Only  a  pioneer's 
eye  could  have  detected  the  few  pin-pricks 
of  light  in  the  impenetrable  distance,  and  it 
was  a  signal  proof  of  his  leadership  that  the 
others  accepted  it  without  seeing  it.  "  It 's 
just  ten  o'clock,"  he  continued,  holding  a 
huge  silver  watch  to  his  eye  ;  "  we  've  wasted 
an  hour  on  those  blamed  spooks  yonder ! ' 

4 'We  weren't  off  the  trail  more  than  ten 
minutes,  Uncle  Dick,"  protested  the  plea 
sant  voice. 

"  All  right,  my  son  ;  go  down  there  if  you 
like  and  fetch  out  your  Witch  of  Endor,but 
as  for  me,  I  'm  going  to  throw  myself  the 
other  side  of  Collinson's  lights.  They're 
good  enough  for  me,  and  a  blamed  sight 
more  stationary !  " 

The  grade  was  very  steep,  but  they  took 
it,  California  fashion,  at  a  gallop,  being  gen 
uinely  good  riders,  and  using  their  brains  as 
well  as  their  spurs  in  the  understanding  of 


10         IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

their  horses,  and  of  certain  natural  laws,  which 
the  more  artificial  riders  of  civilization  are 
apt  to  overlook.  Hence  there  was  110  hesi 
tation  or  indecision  communicated  to  the 
nervous  creatures  they  bestrode,  who  swept 
over  crumbling  stones  and  slippery  ledges 
with  a  momentum  that  took  away  half  their 
weight,  and  made  a  stumble  or  false  step, 
or  indeed  anything  but  an  actual  collision, 
almost  impossible.  Closing  together  they 
avoided  the  latter,  and  holding  each  other 
well  up,  became  one  irresistible  wedge-shaped 
mass.  At  times  they  yelled,  not  from  con 
sciousness  nor  bravado,  but  from  the  purely 
animal  instinct  of  warning  and  to  combat 
the  breathlessness  of  their  descent,  until, 
reaching  the  level,  they  charged  across  the 
gravelly  bed  of  a  vanished  river,  and  pulled 
up  nt  Collinson's  Mill.  The  mill  itself  had 
long  since  vanished  with  the  river,  but  the 
building  that  had  once  stood  for  it  was  used 
as  a  rude  hostelry  for  travelers,  which, 
however,  bore  no  legend  or  invitatory  sign. 
Those  who  wanted  it,  knew  it;  those  who 
passed  it  by,  gave  it  no  offense. 

Collinson  himself  stood  by  the  door,  smok 
ing  a  contemplative  pipe.     As  they  rode  up, 


IA^  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.         11 

he  disengaged  himself  from  the  doorpost  list 
lessly,  walked  slowly  towards  them,  said  re 
flectively  to  the  leader,  "  I ' ve  been  thinking 
with  you  that  a  vote  for  Thompson  is  a  vote 
thrown  away,"  and  prepared  to  lead  the 
horses  towards  the  water  tank.  He  had 
parted  with  them  over  twelve  hours  before, 
but  his  air  of  simply  renewing  a  recently 
interrupted  conversation  was  too  common  a 
circumstance  to  attract  their  notice.  They 
knew,  and  he  knew,  that  no  one  else  had 
passed  that  way  since  he  had  last  spoken  ; 
that  the  same  sun  had  swung  silently  above 
him  and  the  unchanged  landscape,  and  there 
had  been  no  interruption  nor  diversion  to  his 
monotonous  thought.  The  wilderness  anni 
hilates  time  and  space  with  the  grim  pathos 
of  patience. 

Nevertheless  he  smiled.  "  Ye  don't  seem 
to  have  got  through  coming  down  yet,"  he 
continued,  as  a  few  small  boulders,  loosened 
in  their  rapid  descent,  came  more  deliberately 
rolling  and  plunging  after  the  travelers 
along  the  gravelly  bottom.  Then  he  turned 
away  with  the  horses,  and,  after  they  were 
watered,  he  reentered  the  house.  His  guests 
had  evidently  not  waited  for  his  ministration. 


12         IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

They  had  already  taken  one  or  two  bottles 
from  the  shelves  behind  a  wide  bar  and 
helped  themselves,  and,  glasses  in  hand,  were 
now  satisfying  the  more  imminent  cravings 
of  hunger  with  biscuits  from  a  barrel  and 
slices  of  smoked  herring  from  a  box.  Their 
equally  singular  host,  accepting  their  conduct 
as  not  unusual,  joined  the  circle  they  had 
comfortably  drawn  round  the  fireplace,  and 
meditatively  kicking  a  brand  back  at  the 
fire,  said,  without  looking  at  them :  - 

"Well?" 

"  Well !  "  returned  the  leader,  leaning 
back  in  his  chair  after  carefully  unloosing 
the  buckle  of  his  belt,  but  with  his  eyes  also 
on  the  fire,  —  "  well !  we  Ve  prospected  every 
yard  of  outcrop  along  the  Divide,  and  there 
ain't  the  ghost  of  a  silver  indication  any 
where." 

"Not  a  smell,"  added  the  close-shaven 
guest,  without  raising  his  eyes. 

They  all  remained  silent,  looking  at  the 
fire,  as  if  it  were  the  one  thing  they  had 
taken  into  their  confidence.  Collinson  also 
addressed  himself  to  the  blaze  as  he  said 
presently :  "  It  allus  seemed  .to  me  that  thai- 
was  something  shiny  about  that  ledge  just 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.        13 

round  the  shoulder  of  the  spur,  over  the 
long  canon." 

The  leader  ejaculated  a  short  laugh. 
"  Shiny,  eh  ?  shiny !  Ye  think  that  a  sign  ? 
Why,  you  might  as  well  reckon  that  because 
Key's  head,  over  thar,  is  gray  and  silvery 
that  he's  got  sabe  and  experience."  As  he 
spoke  he  looked  towards  the  man  with  a 
pleasant  voice.  The  fire  shining  full  upon 
him  revealed  the  singular  fact  that  while  his 
face  was  still  young,  and  his  mustache  quite 
dark,  his  hair  was  perfectly  gray.  The 
object  of  this  attention,  far  from  being  dis 
concerted  by  the  comparison,  added  with  a 
smile :  — 

"  Or  that  he  had  any  silver  in  his  pocket." 

Another  lapse  of  silence  foUowed.  The 
wind  tore  round  the  house  and  rumbled  in 
the  short,  adobe  chimney. 

"  No,  gentlemen,"  said  the  leader  reflec 
tively,  "  this  sort  o'  thing  is  played  out.  I 
don't  take  no  more  stock  in  that  cock-and- 
bull  story  about  the  lost  Mexican  mine.  I 
don't  catch  on  to  that  Sunday-school  yarn 
about  the  pious,  scientific  sharp  who  col 
lected  leaves  and  vegetables  all  over  the 
Divide,  all  the  while  he  scientifically  knew 


14        IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

that  the  range  was  solid  silver,  only  he 
wouldn't  soil  his  .fingers  with  God-forsaken 
lucre.  I  ain't  saying  anything  agin  that 
fine-spun  theory  that  Key  believes  in  about 
volcanic  upheavals  that  set  up  on  end  ar 
gentiferous  rock,  but  I  simply  say  that  / 
don't  see  it  —  with  the  naked  eye.  And  I 
reckon  it 's  about  time,  boys,  as  the  game  's 
up,  that  we  handed  in  our  checks,  and  left 
the  board." 

There  was  another  silence  around  the  fire, 
another  whirl  and  turmoil  without.  There 
was  no  attempt  to  combat  the  opinions  of 
their  leader ;  possibly  the  same  sense  of  dis 
appointed  hopes  was  felt  by  all,  only  they 
preferred  to  let  the  man  of  greater  experi 
ence  voice  it.  He  went  on  :  — 

"  We  've  had  our  little  game,  boys,  ever 
since  we  left  Rawlin's  a  week  ago ;  we  've 
had  our  ups  and  downs  ;  we  Ve  been  starved 
and  parched,  snowed  up  and  half  drowned, 
shot  at  by  road-agents  and  horse-thieves, 
kicked  by  mules  and  played  with  by  grizzlies. 
We  've  had  a  heap  o'  fun,  boys,  for  our 
money,  but  I  reckon  the  picnic  is  about  over. 
So  we  '11  shake  hands  to-morrow  all  round 
and  call  it  square,  and  go  on  our  ways 
separately." 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.         15 

"  And  what  do  you  think  you  '11  do,  Uncle 
Dick  ?  "  said  his  close-shaven  companion  list 
lessly. 

"  I  '11  make  tracks  for  a  square  meal,  a 
bed  that  a  man  can  comfortably  take  off 
his  boots  and  die  in,  and  some  violet-scented 
soap.  Civilization 's  good  enough  for  me  ! 
I  even  reckon  I  would  n't  mind  c  the  sound 
of  the  church-going  bell '  ef  there  was  a  the 
atre  handy,  as  there  likely  would  be.  But 
the  wilderness  is  played  out." 

"  You  '11  be  back  to  it  again  in  six  months, 
Uncle  Dick,"  retorted  the  other  quickly. 

Uncle  Dick  did  not  reply.  It  was  a 
peculiarity  of  the  party  that  in  their  isolated 
companionship  they  had  already  exhausted 
discussion  and  argument.  A  silence  fol 
lowed,  in  which  they  all  looked  at  the  fire  as 
if  it  was  its  turn  to  make  a  suggestion. 

"  Collinson,"  said  the  pleasant  voice  ab 
ruptly,  "  who  lives  in  the  hollow  this  side 
of  the  Divide,  about  two  miles  from  the  first 
spur  above  the  big  canon  ?  " 

"Nary  soul!" 

"  Are  you  sure  ?  " 

"  Sartin !  Thar  ain't  no  one  but  me 
betwixt  Bald  Top  and  Skinner's  —  twenty- 
five  miles." 


16        IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

"  Of  course,  you  *d  know  if  any  one  had 
come  there  lately  ?  "  persisted  the  pleasant 
voice. 

"I  reckon.  It  ain't  a  week  ago  that  I 
tramped  the  whole  distance  that  you  fellers 
just  rode  over." 

"  There  ain't,"  said  the  leader  deliberately, 
"  any  enchanted  castle  or  cabin  that  goes 
waltzing  round  the  road  with  revolving  win 
dows  and  fairy  princesses  looking  out  of 
'em?" 

But  Collinson,  recognizing  this  as  purely 
irrelevant  humor,  with  possibly  a  trap  or 
pitfall  in  it,  moved  away  from  the  fireplace 
without  a  word,  and  retired  to  the  adjoining 
kitchen  to  prepare  supper.  Presently  he 
reappeared. 

"The  pork  bar'l's  empty,  boys,  so  I'll 
hev  to  fix  ye  up  with  jerked  beef,  potatoes, 
and  flapjacks.  Ye  see,  thar  ain't  anybody 
ben  over  from  Skinner's  store  for  a  week." 

"  All  right ;  only  hurry  up  ! "  said  Uncle 
Dick  cheerfully,  settling  himself  back  in  his 
chair.  "  I  reckon  to  turn  in  as  soon  as  I  've 
rastled  with  your  hash,  for  I  've  got  to  turn 
out  agin  and  be  off  at  sun-up." 

They  were  all  very  quiet  again,  —  so  quiet 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.         17 

that  they  could  not  help  noticing  that  the 
sound  of  Collinson's  preparations  for  their 
supper  had  ceased  too.  Uncle  Dick  arose 
softly  and  walked  to  the  kitchen  door.  Col- 
linson  was  sitting  before  a  small  kitchen 
stove,  with  a  fork  in  his  hand,  gazing  ab 
stractedly  before  him.  At  the  sound  of 
his  guest's  footsteps  he  started,  and  the  noise 
of  preparation  recommenced.  Uncle  Dick 
returned  to  his  chair  by  the  fire.  Leaning 
towards  the  chair  of  the  close-shaven  man,  he 
said  in  a  lower  voice  :  — 

"  He  was  off  agin  !  " 

«  What  ?  " 

"  Thinkin'  of  that  wife  of  his." 

"What  about  his  wife?"  asked  Key, 
lowering  his  voice  also. 

o 

The  three  men's  heads  were  close  together. 

"  When  Collinson  fixed  up  this  mill  he 
sent  for  his  wife  in  the  States,"  said  Uncle 
Dick,  in  a  half  whisper,  "  waited  a  year  for 
her,  hanging  round  and  boarding  every  emi 
grant  wagon  that  came  through  the  Pass. 
She  did  n't  come  —  only  the  news  that  she 
was  dead."  He  .paused  and  nudged  his 
chair  still  closer  —  the  heads  were  almost 
touching.  "  They  say,  over  in  the  Bar  "  — 


18        IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

his  voice  had   sunk  to  a  complete  whisper 

—  u  that  it  was  a  lie  !     That  she  ran  away 
with  the    man   that  was   fetchin'    her  out. 
Three  thousand  miles  and  three  weeks  with 
another  man  upsets  some  women.      But  he 
knows  nothing  about  it,  only  he  sometimes 
kinder  goes  oft'  looney-like,  thinking  of  her." 
He  stopped,  the  heads  separated  ;  Collinson 
had  appeared  at  the  doorway,  his  melancholy 
patience  apparently  unchanged. 

"  Grub  's  on,  gentlemen  ;  sit  by  and  eat." 
The  humble  meal  was  dispatched  with 
zest  and  silence.  A  few  inter jectional  re 
marks  about  the  uncertainties  of  prospecting 
only  accented  the  other  pauses.  In  ten 
minutes  they  were  out  again  by  the  fireplace 
with  their  lit  pipes.  As  there  were  only 
three  chairs,  Collinson  stood  beside  the 
chimney. 

"  Collinson,"  said  Uncle  Dick,  after  the 
usual  pause,  taking  his  pipe  from  his  lips, 
"  as  we  've  got  to  get  up  and  get  at  sun-up, 
we  might  as  well  tell  you  now  that  we  're 
dead  broke.  We  've  been  living  for  the 
last  few  weeks  on  Preble  Key's  loose  change 

—  and  that 's  gone.     You  '11  have  to  let  this 
little  account  and  damage  stand  over." 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.        19 

Collinson's  brow  slightly  contracted,  with 
out,  however,  altering  his  general  expression 
of  resigned  patience. 

"  I  'm  sorry  for  you,  boys,"  he  said  slowly, 
"  and  "  (diffidently)  «  kinder  sorry  for  my 
self,  too.  You  see,  I  reckoned  on  goin'  over 
to  Skinner's  to-morrow,  to  fill  up  the  pork 
bar'l  and  vote  for  Mesick  and  the  wagon- 
road.  But  Skinner  can't  let  me  have 
anything  more  until  I've  paid  suthin'  on 
account,  as  he  calls  it." 

"  D'  ye  mean  to  say  thar  's  any  mountain 
man  as  low  flung  and  mean  as  that  ?  "  said 
Uncle  Dick  indignantly. 

"  But  it  is  n't  his  fault,"  said  Collinson 
gently ;  "  you  see,'  they  won't  send  him 
goods  from  Sacramento  if  he  don't  pay  up, 
and  he  can't  if  I  dont.  Sale  ?  " 

"Ah!  that's  another  thing.  They  are 
mean — in  Sacramento,"  said  Uncle  Dick, 
somewhat  mollified. 

The  other  guests  murmured  an  assent  to 
this  general  proposition.  Suddenly  Uncle 
Dick's  face  brightened. 

"  Look  here  !  I  know  Skinner,  and  I  '11 
stop  there  —  No,  blank  it  all !  I  can't,  for 
it 's  off  my  route !  Well,  then,  we  '11  fix  it 


20         IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

this  way.  Key  will  go  there  and  tell  Skin 
ner  that  /  say  that  I9 II  send  the  money  to 
that  Sacramento  hound.  That  '11  fix  it !  " 

Collinson's  brow  cleared ;  the  solution  of 
the  difficulty  seemed  to  satisfy  everybody, 
and  the  close-shaven  man  smiled. 

"  And  I  '11  secure  it,"  he  said,  "  and  give 
Collinson  a  sight  draft  on  myself  at  San 
Francisco." 

"  What 's  that  for  ?  "  said  Collinson,  with 
a  sudden  suffusion  on  each  cheek. 

"  In  case  of  accident." 

"  Wot  accident  ?  "  persisted  Collinson, 
with  a  dark  look  of  suspicion  on  his  usually 
placid  face. 

"  In  case  we  should  forget  it,"  said  the 
close-shaven  man,  with  a  laugh. 

"  And  do  you  suppose  that  if  you  boys 
went  and  forgot  it  that  I  'd  have  anything 
to  do  with  your  d — d  paper  ?  "  said  Collin 
son,  a  murky  cloud  coming  into  his  eyes. 

"  Why,  that 's  only  business,  Colly,"  in 
terposed  Uncle  Dick  quickly;  "that's  all 
Jim  Parker  means ;  he  's  a  business  man, 
don't  you  see.  Suppose  we  got  killed ! 
You  've  that  draft  to  show." 

"  Show  who  ?  "  growled  Collinson. 


7^  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.         21 

"  Why,  —  hang  it !  —  our  friends,  our 
heirs,  our  relations  —  to  get  your  money," 
hesitated  Uncle  Dick. 

"  And  do  you  kalkilate,"  said  Collinson, 
with  deeply  laboring  breath,  "that  if  you 
got  killed,  that  I  'd  be  coming  on  your  folks 
for  the  worth  of  the  d — d  truck  I  giv  ye  ? 
Go  'way !  Lemme  git  out  o'  this.  You  're 
makin'  me  tired."  He  stalked  to  the  door, 
lit  his  pipe,  and  began  to  walk  up  and  down 
the  gravelly  river-bed.  Uncle  Dick  followed 
him.  From  time  to  time  the  two  other 
guests  heard  the  sounds  of  alternate  protest 
and  explanation  as  they  passed  and  repassed 
the  windows.  Preble  Key  smiled,  Parker 
shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  He  '11  be  thinkin'  you  've  begrudged  him 
your  grub  if  you  don't  —  that 's  the  way 
with  these  business  men,"  said  Uncle  Dick's 
voice  in  one  of  these  intervals.  Presently 
they  reentered  the  house,  Uncle  Dick  say 
ing  casually  to  Parker,  "  You  can  leave  that 
draft  on  the  bar  when  you  're  ready  to  go 
to-morrow ;  "  and  the  incident  was  presumed 
to  have  ended.  But  Collinson  did  not  glance 
in  the  direction  of  Parker  for  the  rest  of  the 
evening ;  and,  indeed,  standing  with  his  back 


22        IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

to  the  chimney,  more  than  once  fell  into  that 
stolid  abstraction  which  was  supposed  to  be 
the  contemplation  of  his  absent  wife. 

From  this  silence,  which  became  infec 
tious,  the  three  guests  were  suddenly  aroused 
by  a  furious  clattering  down  the  steep  de 
scent  of  the  mountain,  along  the  trail  they 
had  just  ridden  !  It  came  near,  increasing 
in  sound,  until  it  even  seemed  to  scatter  the 
fine  gravel  01  the  river-bed  against  the  sides 
of  the  house,  and  then  passed  in  a  gust  of 
wind  that  shook  the  roof  and  roared  in  the 
chimney.  With  one  common  impulse  the 
three  travelers  rose  and  went  to  the  door. 
They  opened  it  to  a  blackness  that  seemed 
to  stand  as  another  and  an  iron  door  before 
them,  but  to  nothing  else. 

"  Somebody  went  by  then,"  said  Uncle 
Dick,  turning  to  Collinson.  "  Did  n't  you 
hear  it?" 

"  Nary,"  said  Collinson  patiently,  without 
moving  from  the  chimney. 

"  What  in  God's  name  was  it,  then  ?  " 

"  Only  some  of  them  boulders  you  loosed 
coming  down.  It 's  touch  and  go  with  them 
for  days  after.  When  I  first  came  here  I 
used  to  start  up  and  rush  out  into  the  road 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.        23 

—  like  as  you  would  —  yellin'  and  screechin' 
after  folks  that  never  was  there  and  never 
went  by.  Then  it  got  kinder  monotonous, 
and  I  'd  lie  still  and  let  'em  slide.  Why, 
one  night  I  'd  'a'  sworn  that  some  one  pulled 
up  with  a  yell  and  shook  the  door.  But  I 
sort  of  allowed  to  myself  that  whatever  it 
was,  it  was  n't  wan  tin'  to  eat,  drink,  sleep, 
or  it  would  come  in,  and  I  had  n't  any 
call  to  interfere.  And  in  the  mornin'  I 
found  a  rock  as  big  as  that  box,  lying  chock- 
a-block  agin  the  door.  Then  I  knowed  I 
was  right." 

Preble  Key  remained  looking  from  the 
door. 

"  There 's  a  glow  in  the  sky  over  Big 
Canon,"  he  said,  with  a  meaning  glance  at 
Uncle  Dick. 

"  Saw  it  an  hour  ago,"  said  Collinson. 
"  It  must  be  the  woods  afire  just  round  the 
bend  above  the  canon.  Whoever  goes  to 
Skinner's  had  better  give  it  a  wide  berth." 

Key  turned  towards  Collinson  as  if  to 
speak,  but  apparently  changed  his  mind,  and 
presently  joined  his  companions,  who  were 
already  rolling  themselves  in  their  blankets, 
in  a  series  of  wooden  bunks  or  berths, 


24        IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

ranged  as  in  a  ship's  cabin,  around  the  walls 
of  a  resinous,  saAvdusty  apartment  that  had 
been  the  measuring  room  of   the  mill.     Col- 
linson  disappeared,  —  no  one  knew  or  seemed 
to  care  where,  —  and,  in  less  than  ten  min 
utes  from  the  time  that  they  had  returned 
from  the  door,  the  hush  of  sleep  and  rest 
seemed  to  possess  the  whole  house.     There 
was  no  light  but  that  of  the  fire  in  the  front 
room,  which  threw  flickering  and  gigantic 
shadows   on  the   walls   of  the  three  empty 
chairs  before  it.     An  hour  later  it  seemed 
as  if  one  of  the  chairs  were  occupied,  and  a 
grotesque  profile  of  Collinson's  slumbering 
—  or  meditating  —  face  and  figure  was  pro 
jected  grimly  on  the   rafters   as   though  it 
were  the  hovering   guardian   spirit  of   the 
house.     But  even  that  passed  presently  and 
faded   out,   and   the   beleaguering   darkness 
that  had  encompassed  the  house  all  the  even 
ing  began  to  slowly  creep  in  through  every 
chink  and  cranny  of  the  rambling,  ill- jointed 
structure,  until  it  at  last  obliterated  even  the 
faint  embers  on  the  hearth.     The  cool  fra 
grance  of  the  woodland  depths  crept  in  with 
it  until  the  steep  of  human  warmth,  the  reek 
of  human  clothing,  and  the  lingering  odors 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.        25 

of  stale  human  victual  were  swept  away  in 
that  incorruptible  and  omnipotent  breath. 
An  hour  later  —  and  the  wilderness  had  re 
possessed  itself  of  all. 

Key,  the  lightest  sleeper,  awoke  early,  — 
so  early  that  the  dawn  announced  itself  only 
in  two  dim  squares  of   light  that  seemed  to 
grow  out  of  the  darkness  at  the  end  of  the 

o 

room  where  the  windows  looked  out  upon 
the  valley.  This  reminded  him  of  his  wood 
land  vision  of  the  night  before,  and  he  lay 
and  watched  them  until  they  brightened  and 
began  to  outline  the  figures  of  his  still 
sleeping  companions.  But  there  were  faint 
stirrings  elsewhere,  —  the  soft  brushing  of  a 
squirrel  across  the  shingled  roof,  the  tiny 
flutter  of  invisible  wings  in  the  rafters,  the 
"  peep  "  and  "  squeak  "  of  baby  life  below 
the  floor.  And  then  he  fell  into  a  deeper 
sleep,  and  awoke  only  when  it  was  broad 
day. 

The  sun  was  shining  upon  the  empty 
bunks ;  his  companions  were  already  up 
and  gone.  They  had  separated  as  they 
had  come  together,  —  with  the  light-hearted 
irresponsibility  of  animals,  —  without  regret, 
and  scarcely  reminiscence;  bearing,  with 


26        IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

cheerful  philosophy  and  the  hopefulness  of 
a  future  unfettered  by  their  past,  the  final 
disappointment  of  their  quest.  If  they  ever 
met  again,  they  would  laugh  and  remember ; 
if  they  did  not,  they  would  forget  without  a 
sigh.  He  hurriedly  dressed  himself,  and 
went  outside  to  dip  his  face  and  hands  in 
the  bucket  that  stood  beside  the  door ;  but 
the  clear  air,  the  dazzling  sunshine,  and  the 
unexpected  prospect  half  intoxicated  him. 

The  abandoned  mill  stretched  beside  him 
in  all  the  pathos  of  its  premature  decay. 
The  ribs  of  the  water-wheel  appeared  amid 
a  tangle  of  shrubs  and  driftwood,  and  were 
twined  with  long  grasses  and  straggling 
vines ;  mounds  of  sawdust  and  heaps  of 
"  brush  "  had  taken  upon  themselves  a  vel 
vety  moss  where  the  trickling  slime  of  the 
vanished  river  lost  itself  in  sluggish  pools, 
discolored  with  the  dyes  of  redwood.  But 
on  the  other  side  of  the  rocky  ledge  dropped 
the  whole  length  of  the  valley,  alternately 
bathed  in  sunshine  or  hidden  in  drifts  of 
white  and  clinging  smoke.  The  upper  end 
of  the  long  canon,  and  the  crests  of  the 
ridge  above  him,  were  lost  in  this  fleecy 
cloud,  which  at  times  seemed  to  overflow 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.        27 

the  summits  and  fall  in  slow  leaps  like  lazy 
cataracts  down  the  mountain-side.  Only  the 
range  before  the  ledge  was  clear ;  there  the 
green  pines  seemed  to  swell  onward  and  up 
ward  in  long  mounting  billows,  until  at  last 
they  broke  against  the  sky. 

In  the  keen  stimulus  of  the  hour  and  the 
air  Key  felt  the  mountaineer's  longing  for 
action,  and  scarcely  noticed  that  Collinson 
had  pathetically  brought  out  his  pork  barrel 
to  scrape  together  a  few  remnants  for  his  last 
meal.  It  was  not  until  he  had  finished  his 
coffee,  and  Collinson  had  brought  up  his 
horse,  that  a  slight  sense  of  shame  at  his  own 
and  his  comrades'  selfishness  embarrassed 
his  parting  with  his  patient  host.  He  him 
self  was  going  to  Skinner's  to  plead  for  him  ; 
he  knew  that  Parker  had  left  the  draft,  — 
he  had  seen  it  lying  in  the  bar,  —  but  a  new 
sense  of  delicacy  kept  him  from  alluding  to 
it  now.  It  was  better  to  leave  Collinson 
with  his  own  peculiar  ideas  of  the  respon 
sibilities  of  hospitality  unchanged.  Key 
shook  his  hand  warmly,  and  galloped  up 
the  rocky  slope.  But  when  he  had  finally 
reached  the  higher  level,  and  fancied  he 
could  even  now  see  the  dust  raised  by  his 


28        IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

departing  comrades  on  their  two  diverging 
paths,  although  he  knew  that  they  had  al 
ready  gone  their  different  ways,  —  perhaps 
never  to  meet  again,  —  his  thoughts  and  his 
eyes  reverted  only  to  the  ruined  mill  below 
him  and  its  lonely  occupant. 

He  could  see  him  quite  distinctly  in  that 
clear  air,  still  standing  before  his  door.  And 
then  he  appeared  to  make  a  parting  gesture 
with  his  hand,  and  something  like  snow  flut 
tered  in  the  air  above  his  head.  It  was 
only  the  torn  fragments  of  Parker's  draft, 
which  this  homely  gentleman  of  the  Sierras, 
standing  beside  his  empty  pork  barrel,  had 
scattered  to  the  four  winds. 


CHAPTER  II. 

KEY'S  attention  was  presently  directed  to 
something  more  important  to  his  present 
purpose.  The  keen  wind  which  he  had 
faced  in  mounting  the  grade  had  changed, 
and  was  now  blowing  at  his  back.  His  ex 
perience  of  forest  fires  had  already  taught 
him  that  this  was  too  often  only  the  cold  air 
rushing  in  to  fill  the  vacuum  made  by  the 
conflagration,  and  it  needed  not  his  sensa 
tion  of  an  acrid  smarting  in  his  eyes,  and 
an  unaccountable  dryness  in  the  air  which 
he  was  now  facing,  to  convince  him  that  the 
fire  was  approaching  him.  It  had  evidently 
traveled  faster  than  he  had  expected,  or 
had  diverged  from  its  course.  He  was  dis 
appointed,  not  because  it  would  oblige  him 
to  take  another  route  to  Skinner's,  as  Col- 
linson  had  suggested,  but  for  a  very  differ 
ent  reason.  Ever  since  his  vision  of  the 
preceding  night,  he  had  resolved  to  revisit 
the  hollow  and  discover  the  mystery.  He 


30         IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

had  kept  his  purpose  a  secret,  —  partly  be 
cause  he  wished  to  avoid  the  jesting  remarks 
of  his  companions,  but  particularly  because 
he  wished  to  go  alone,  from  a  very  singular 
impression  that  although  they  had  witnessed 
the  incident  he  had  really  seen  more  than 
they  did.  To  this  was  also  added  the  haunt 
ing  fear  he  had  felt  during  the  night  that 
this  mysterious  habitation  and  its  occupants 
were  in  the  track  of  the  conflagration.  He 
had  not  dared  to  dwell  upon  it  openly  on 
account  of  Uncle  Dick's  evident  responsibil 
ity  for  the  origin  of  the  fire ;  he  appeased 
his  conscience  with  the  reflection  that  the 
inmates  of  the  dwelling  110  doubt  had  ample 
warning  in  time  to  escape.  But  still,  he 
and  his  companions  ought  to  have  stopped 
to  help  them,  and  then  —  but  here  he 
paused,  conscious  of  another  reason  he  could 
scarcely  voice  then,  or  even  now.  Preble 
Key  had  not  passed  the  age  of  romance,  but 
like  other  romancists  he  thought  he  had 
evaded  it  by  treating  it  practically. 

Meantime  he  had  reached  the  fork  where 
the  trail  diverged  to  the  right,  and  he  must 
take  that  direction  if  he  wished  to  make 
a  detour  of  the  burning  woods  to  reach 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.        31 

Skinner's.  His  momentary  indecision  com 
municated  itself  to  his  horse,  who  halted. 
Recalled  to  himself,  he  looked  down  me 
chanically,  when  his  attention  was  attracted 
by  an  unfamiliar  object  lying  in  the  dust  of 
the  trail.  It  was  a  small  slipper  —  so  small 
that  at  first  he  thought  it  must  have  be 
longed  to  some  child.  He  dismounted  and 
picked  it  up.  It  was  worn  and  shaped  to 
the  foot.  It  could  not  have  lain  there  long, 
for  it  was  not  filled  nor  discolored  by  the 
wind-blown  dust  of  the  trail,  as  all  other 
adjacent  objects  were.  If  it  had  been 
dropped  by  a  passing  traveler,  that  traveler 
must  have  passed  Collinson's,  going  or  com 
ing,  within  the  last  twelve  hours.  It  was 
scarcely  possible  that  the  shoe  could  have 
dropped  from  the  foot  without  the  wearer's 
knowing  it,  and  it  must  have  been  dropped 
in  an  urgent  flight,  or  it  would  have  been 
recovered.  Thus  practically  Key  treated  his 
romance.  And  having  done  so,  he  instantly 
wheeled  his  horse  and  plunged  into  the  road 
in  the  direction  of  the  fire. 

But  he  was  surprised  after  twenty  minutes' 
riding  to  find  that  the  course  of  the  fire  had 
evidently  changed.  It  was  growing  clearer 


32        IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

before  him  ;  the  dry  heat  seemed  to  come 
more  from  the  right,  in  the  direction  of  the 
detour  he  should  have  taken  to  Skinner's. 
This  seemed  almost  providential,  and  in 
keeping  with  his  practical  treatment  of  his 
romance,  as  was  also  the  fact  that  in  all 
probability  the  fire  had  not  yet  visited  the 
little  hollow  which  he  intended  to  explore. 
He  knew  he  was  nearing  it  now ;  the  local 
ity  had  been  strongly  impressed  upon  him 
even  in  the  darkness  of  the  previous  even 
ing.  He  had  passed  the  rocky  ledge ;  his 
horse's  hoofs  no  longer  rang  out  clearly; 
slowly  and  perceptibly  they  grew  deadened 
in  the  springy  mosses,  and  were  finally  lost 
in  the  netted  grasses  and  tangled  vines  that 
indicated  the  vicinity  of  the  densely  wooded 
hollow.  Here  were  already  some  of  the 
wider  spaced  vanguards  of  that  wood  ;  but 
here,  too,  a  peculiar  circumstance  struck  him. 
He  was  already  descending  the  slight  decliv 
ity;  but  the  distance,  instead  of  .deepening 
in  leafy  shadow,  was  actually  growing  lighter. 
Here  were  the  outskirting  sentinels  of  the 
wood  —  but  the  wood  itself  was  gone  !  He  / 
spurred  his  horse  through  the  tall  arch  be 
tween  the  opened  columns,  and  pulled  up  in 
amazement. 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.        33 

The  wood,  indeed,  was  gone,  and  the  whole 
hollow  filled  with  the  already  black  and 
dead  stumps  of  the  utterly  consumed  for 
est  !  More  than  that,  from  the  indications 
before  him,  the  catastrophe  must  have  al 
most  immediately  followed  his  retreat  from 
the  hollow  on  the  preceding  night.  It  was 
evident  that  the  fire  had  leaped  the  inter 
vening  shoulder  of  the  spur  in  one  of  the 
unaccountable,  but  by  no  means  rare,  phe 
nomena  of  this  kind  of  disaster.  The  cir 
cling  heights  around  were  yet  untouched; 
only  the  hollow,  and  the  ledge  of  rock 
against  which  they  had  blundered  with  their 
horses  when  they  were  seeking  the  mysteri 
ous  window  in  last  evening's  darkness,  were 
calcined  and  destroyed.  He  dismounted  and 
climbed  the  ledge,  still  warm  from  the  spent 
fire.  A  large  mass  of  grayish  outcrop  had 
evidently  been  the  focus  of  the  furnace 
blast  of  heat  which  must  have  raged  for 
hours  in  this  spot.  He  was  skirting  its 
crumbling  debris  when  he  started  suddenly 
at  a  discovery  which  made  everything  else 
fade  into  utter  insignificance.  Before  him, 
in  a  slight  depression  formed  by  a  fault  or 
lapse  in  the  upheaved  strata,  lay  the  charred 


34        IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

and  incinerated  remains  of  a  dwelling-house 
leveled  to  the  earth!  Originally  half  hid 
den  by  a  natural  abattis  of  growing  myrtle 
and  ceanothus  which  covered  this  counter 
scarp  of  rock  towards  the  trail,  it  must 
have  stood  within  a  hundred  feet  of  them 
during  their  halt ! 

Even  in  its  utter  and  complete  oblitera 
tion  by  the  furious  furnace  blast  that  had 
swept  across  it,  there  was  still  to  be  seen  an 
unmistakable  ground  plan  and  outline  of  a 
four-roomed  house.  While  everything  that 
was  combustible  had  succumbed  to  that  in 
tense  heat,  there  was  still  enough  half-fused 
and  warped  metal,  fractured  iron  plate,  and 
twisted  and  broken  bars  to  indicate  the 
kitchen  and  tool  shed.  Very  little  had,  evi 
dently,  been  taken  away ;  the  house  and  its 
contents  were  consumed  where  they  stood. 
With  a  feeling  of  horror  and  desperation 
Key  at  last  ventured  to  disturb  two  or  three 
of  the  blackened  heaps  that  lay  before  him. 
But  they  were  only  vestiges  of  clothing,  bed 
ding,  and  crockery  —  there  was  no  human 
trace  that  he  could  detect.  Nor  was  there 
any  suggestion  of  the  original  condition 
and  quality  of  the  house,  except  its  size : 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.        35 

whether  the  ordinary  unsightly  cabin  of 
frontier  "  partners,"  or  some  sylvan  cottage 
—  there  was  nothing  left  but  the  usual  igno 
ble  and  unsavory  ruins  of  burnt-out  human 
habitation. 

And  yet  its  very  existence  was  a  mystery. 
It  had  been  unknown  at  Collinson's,  its 
nearest  neighbor,  and  it  was  presumable 
that  it  was  equally  unknown  at  Skinner's. 
Neither  he  nor  his  companions  had  detected 
it  in  their  first  journey  by  day  through  the 
hollow,  and  only  the  tell-tale  window  at 
iiio-ht  had  been  a  hint  of  what  was  even 

O 

then  so  successfully  concealed  that  they 
could  not  discover  it  when  they  had  blun 
dered  against  its  rock  foundation.  For  con 
cealed  it  certainly  was,  and  intentionally  so. 
But  for  what  purpose  ? 

He  gave  his  romance  full  play  for  a  few 
minutes  with  this  question.  Some  recluse, 
preferring  the  absolute  simplicity  of  nature, 
or  perhaps  wearied  with  the  artificialities  of 
society,  had  secluded  himself  here  with  the 
company  of  his  only  daughter.  Proficient 
as  a  pathfinder,  he  had  easily  discovered 
some  other  way  of  provisioning  his  house 
from  the  settlements  than  by  the  ordinary 


36        IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

trails  past  Collinson's  or  Skinner's,  which 
would  have  betrayed  his  vicinity.  But  re 
cluses  are  not  usually  accompanied  by  young 
daughters,  whose  relations  with  the  world, 
not  being  as  antagonistic,  would  make  them 
uncertain  companions.  Why  not  a  wife? 
His  presumption  of  the  extreme  youth  of 
the  face  he  had  seen  at  the  window  was 
after  all  only  based  upon  the  slipper  he  had 
found.  And  if  a  wife,  whose  absolute  ac 
ceptance  of  such  confined  seclusion  might 
be  equally  uncertain,  why  not  somebody 
else's  wife  ?  Here  was  a  reason  for  conceal 
ment,  and  the  end  of  an  episode,  not  un 
known  even  in  the  wilderness.  And  here 
was  the  work  of  the  Nemesis  who  had  over 
taken  them  in  their  guilty  contentment ! 
The  story,  even  to  its  moral,  was  complete. 
And  yet  it  did  not  entirely  satisfy  him,  so 
superior  is  the  absolutely  unknown  to  the 
most  elaborate  theory. 

His  attention  had  been  once  or  twice 
drawn  towards  the  crumbling  wall  of  out 
crop,  which  during  the  conflagration  must 
have  felt  the  full  force  of  the  fiery  blast 
that  had  swept  through  the  hollow  and  spent 
its  fury  upon  it.  It  bore  evidence  of  the 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.         37 

intense    heat   in   cracked    fissures    and    the 
crumbling  debris  that  lay  at  its  feet.     Key 
picked  up  some  of  the  still  warm  fragments, 
and  was  not  surprised  that  they  easily  broke 
in  a  gritty,  grayish  powder  in  his  hands.     In 
spite  of  his  preoccupation  with  the  human 
interest,  the  instinct  of  the  prospector  was 
still   strong  upon  him,  and  he  almost   me 
chanically  put    some   of   the  pieces    in  his 
pockets.     Then  after  another  careful  survey 
of  the  locality  for  any  further  record  of  its 
vanished  tenants,  he  returned  to  his  horse. 
Here  he  took  from  his  saddle-bags,  half  list 
lessly,  a  precious  phial  encased  in  wood,  and, 
opening  it,  poured  into  another  thick  glass, 
vessel   part   of    a  smoking   fluid;    he  then 
crumbled  some   of    the  calcined    fragments 
into  the   glass,  and  watched  the   ebullition 
that    followed    with     mechanical     gravity. 
When  it  had  almost  ceased  he  drained  off 
the  contents  into  another  glass,  which  he  set 
down,    and    then   proceeded   to    pour    some 
water  from  his  drinking-flask  into  the  ordi 
nary  tin  cup  which  formed  part  of  his  culi 
nary  traveling-kit.     Into  this  he  put  three 
or  four  pinches  of  salt  from  his  provision 
store.     Then  dipping  his   fingers   into  the 


38        IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

salt  and  water,  lie  allowed  a  drop  to  fall  into 
the  glass.  A  white  cloud  instantly  gathered 
in  the  colorless  fluid,  and  then  fell  in  a  fine 
film  to  the  bottom  of  the  glass.  Key's  eyes 
concentrated  suddenly,  the  listless  look  left 
his  face.  His  fingers  trembled  lightly  as  he 
again  let  the  salt  water  fall  into  the  solu 
tion,  with  exactly  the  same  result !  Again 
and  again  he  repeated  it,  until  the  bottom 
of  the  glass  was  quite  gray  with  the  fallen 
precipitate.  And  his  own  face  grew  as 
gray. 

His  hand  trembled  no  longer  as  he  care 
fully  poured  off  the  solution  so  as  not  to 
disturb  the  precipitate  at  the  bottom.  Then 
he  drew  out  his  knife,  scooped  a  little  of  the 
gray  sediment  upon  its  point,  and  emptying 
his  tin  cup,  turned  it  upside  down  upon  his 
knee,  placed  the  sediment  upon  it,  and  be 
gan  to  spread  it  over  the  dull  surface  of  its 
bottom  with  his  knife.  He  had  intended  to 
rub  it  briskly  with  his  knife  blade.  But  in 
the  very  action  of  spreading  it,  the  first 
stroke  of  his  knife  left  upon  the  sediment 
and  the  cup  the  luminous  streak  of  bur 
nished  silver ! 

He  stood  up  and  drew  a  long  breath  to 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.        39 

still  the  beatings  of  his  heart.  Then  he 
rapidly  re-climbed  the  rock,  and  passed  over 
the  ruins  again,  this  time,  plunging  hurriedly 
through,  and  kicking  aside  the  charred 
heaps  without  a  thought  of  what  they  had 
contained.  Key  was  not  an  unfeeling  man, 
he  was  not  an  unrefined  one :  he  was  a  gen 
tleman  by  instinct,  and  had  an  intuitive 
sympathy  for  others  ;  but  in  that  instant  his 
whole  mind  was  concentrated  upon  the  cal 
cined  outcrop !  And  his  first  impulse  was 
to  see  if  it  bore  any  evidence  of  previous 
examination,  prospecting,  or  working  by  its 
suddenly  evicted  neighbors  and  owners. 
There  was  none:  they  had  evidently  not 
known  it.  Nor  was  there  any  reason  to 
suppose  that  they  would  ever  return  to  their 
hidden  home,  now  devastated  and  laid  bare 
to  the  open  sunlight  and  open  trail.  They 
were  already  far  away ;  their  guilty  per 
sonal  secret  would  keep  them  from  revisit 
ing  it.  An  immense  feeling  of  relief  came 
over  the  soul  of  this  moral  romancer ;  a 
momentary  recognition  of  the  Most  High 
in  this  perfect  poetical  retribution.  He  ran 
back  quickly  to  his  saddle-bags,  drew  out 
one  or  two  carefully  written,  formal  notices 


40         IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

of  preemption  and  claim,  which  he  and  his 
former  companions  had  carried  in  their  brief 
partnership,  erased  their  signatures  and  left 
only  his  own  name,  with  another  grateful 
sense  of  Divine  interference,  as  he  thought 
of  them  speeding  far  away  in  the  distance, 
and  returned  to  the  ruins.  With  uncon 
scious  irony,  he  selected  a  charred  post  from 
the  embers,  stuck  it  in  the  ground  a  few 
feet  from  the  debris  of  outcrop,  and  finally 
affixed  his  "Notice."  Then,  with  a  con 
scientiousness  born  possibly  of  his  new 
religious  convictions,  he  dislodged  with  his 
pickaxe  enough  of  the  brittle  outcrop  to 
constitute  that  presumption  of  "  actual 
work "  upon  the  claim  which  was  legally 
required  for  its  maintenance,  and  returned 
to  his  horse.  In  replacing  his  things  in 
his  saddle-bags  he  came  upon  the  slipper, 
and  for  an  instant  so  complete  was  his  pre 
occupation  in  his  later  discovery,  that  he 
was  about  to  throw  it  away  as  useless  im 
pedimenta,  until  it  occurred  to  him,  albeit 
vaguely,  that  it  might  be  of  service  to  him 
in  its  connection  with  that  discovery,  in 
the  way  of  refuting  possible  false  claimants. 
He  was  not  aware  of  any  faithlessness  to  his 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.        41 

momentary  romance,  any  more  than  he  was 
conscious  of  any  disloyalty  to  his  old  com 
panions,  in  his  gratification  that  his  good 
fortune  had  come  to  him  alone.  This  sin 
gular  selection  was  a  common  experience 
of  prospecting.  And  there  was  something 
about  the  magnitude  of  his  discovery  that 
seemed  to  point  to  an  individual  achieve 
ment.  He  had  made  a  rough  calculation  of 
the  richness  of  the  lode  from  the  quantity  of 
precipitate  in  his  rude  experiment ;  he  had 
estimated  its  length,  breadth,  and  thickness 
from  his  slight  knowledge  of  geology  and 
the  theories  then  ripe ;  and  the  yield  would 
be  colossal !  Of  course,  he  would  require 
capital  to  work  it,  he  would  have  to  "  let 
in  "  others  to  his  scheme  and  his  prosperity  ; 
but  the  control  of  it  would  always  be  his 
own. 

Then  he  suddenly  started  as  he  had  never 
in  his  life  before  started  at  the  foot  of  man ! 
For  there  was  a  footfall  in  the  charred  brush ; 
and  not  twenty  yards  from  him  stood  Collin- 
son,  who  had  just  dismounted  from  a  mule. 
The  blood  rushed  to  Key's  pale  face. 

"  Prospectiii'  agin  ?  "  said  the  proprietor 
of  the  mill,  with  his  weary  smile. 


42        IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

"  No,"  said  Key  quickly,  "  only  straight 
ening  my  pack."  The  blood  deepened  in 
his  cheek  at  his  instinctive  lie.  Had  he 
carefully  thought  it  out  before,  he  would 
have  welcomed  Collinson,  and  told  him  all. 
But  now  a  quick,  uneasy  suspicion  flashed 
upon  him.  Perhaps  his  late  host  had  lied, 
and  knew  of  the  existence  of  the  hidden 
house.  Perhaps  —  he  had  spoken  of  some 
"  silvery  rock  "  the  night  before  —  he  even 
knew  something  of  the  lode  itself.  He  turned 
upon  him  with  an  aggressive  face.  But  Col- 
linson's  next  words  dissipated  the  thought. 

"  I  'm  glad  I  found  ye,  anyhow,"  he 
said.  "  Ye  see,  arter  you  left,  I  saw  ye  turn 
off  the  trail  and  make  for  the  burning  woods 
instead  o'  goin'  round.  I  sez  to  myself, '  That 
fellow  is  making  straight  for  Skinner's. 
He 's  sorter  worried  about  me  and  that 
empty  pork  bar'l,'  —  I  had  n't  oughter  spoke 
that  away  afore  you  boys,  anyhow,  — '  and 
he  's  takin'  risks  to  help  me.'  So  I  reckoned 
I  'd  throw  my  leg  over  Jenny  here,  and  look 
arter  ye  —  and  go  over  to  Skinner's  myself 
—  and  vote." 

"  Certainly,"  said  Key  with  cheerful 
alacrity,  and  the  one  thought  of  getting  Col- 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.        43 

linson  away ;  "  we  '11  go  together,  and  we  '11 
see  that  that  pork  barrel  is  filled  !  "  He 
glowed  quite  honestly  with  this  sudden  idea 
of  remembering  Collinson  through  his  good 
fortune.  "  Let 's  get  on  quickly,  for  we 
may  find  the  fire  between  us  on  the  outer 
trail."  He  hastily  mounted  his  horse. 

"  Then  you  did  n't  take  this  as  a  short 
cut,"  said  Collinson,  with  dull  perseverance 
in  his  idea.  "  Why  not  ?  It  looks  all  clear 
ahead." 

"Yes,"  said  Key  hurriedly,  "but  it's 
been  only  a  leap  of  the  fire,  it 's  still  raging 
round  the  bend.  We  must  go  back  to 
the  cross-trail."  His  face  was  still  flushing 
with  his  very  equivocating,  and  his  anxiety 
to  get  his  companion  away.  Only  a  few 
steps  further  might  bring  Collinson  before 
the  ruins  and  the  "  Notice,"  and  that  discov 
ery  must  not  be  made  by  him  until  Key's 
plans  were  perfected.  A  sudden  aversion  to 
the  man  ^he  had  a  moment  before  wished  to 
reward  began  to  take  possession  of  him. 
"  Come  on,"  he  added  almost  roughly. 

But  to  his  surprise,  Collinson  yielded  with 
his  usual  grim  patience,  and  even  a  slight 
look  of  sympathy  with  his  friend's  annoy- 


44        IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

ance.  "  I  reckon  you  're  right,  and  mebbee 
you're  in  a  hurry  to  get  to  Skinner's  all 
along  o'  my  business.  I  ought  n't  hev  told 
you  boys  what  I  did."  As  they  rode  rapidly 
away  he  took  occasion  to  add,  when  Key  had 
reined  in  slightly,  with  a  feeling  of  relief  at 
being  out  of  the  hollow,  "I  was  thinkin', 
too,  of  what  you '.d  asked  about  any  one 
livin'  here  unbeknownst  to  me." 

"  Well,"  said  Key,  with  a  new  nervous 
ness. 

"  Well ;  I  only  had  an  idea  o'  proposin' 
that  you  and  me  just  took  a  look  around 
that  holler  whar  you  thought  you  saw 
suthin' !  "  said  Collinson  tentatively. 

"  Nonsense,"  said  Key  hurriedly.  "  We 
really  saw  nothing  —  it  was  all  a  fancy  ;  and 
Uncle  Dick  was  joking  me  because  I  said  I 
thought  I  saw  a  woman's  face,"  he  added 
with  a  forced  laugh. 

Collinson  glanced  at  him,  half  sadly. 
"  Oh !  You  were  only  funnin',  then.  I 
oughter  guessed  that.  I  oughter  have 
knowed  it  from  Uncle  Dick's  talk !  "  They 
rode  for  some  moments  in  silence ;  Key  pre 
occupied  and  feverish,  and  eager  only  to 
reach  Skinner's.  Skinner  was  not  only 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.        45 

postmaster  but  "  registrar  "  of  the  district, 
and  the  new  discoverer  did  not  feel  entirely 
safe  until  he  had  put  his  formal  notification 
and  claims  "  on  record."  This  was  no  pub 
lication  of  his  actual  secret,  nor  any  indica 
tion  of  success,  but  was  only  a  record  that 
would  in  all  probability  remain  unnoticed 
and  unchallenged  amidst  the  many  other 
hopeful  dreams  of  sanguine  prospectors. 
But  he  was  suddenly  startled  from  his  pre 
occupation. 

"Ye  said  ye  war  straightenin'  up  yer 
pack  just  now,"  said  Collinson  slowly. 

"  Yes !  "  said  Key  almost  angrily,  "  and  I 
was." 

"  Ye  did  n't  stop  to  straighten  it  up  down 
at  the  forks  of  the  trail,  did  ye  ?  " 

"  I  may  have,"  said  Key  nervously.  "  But 
why?" 

"  Ye  won't  mind  my  axin'  ye  another 
question,  will  ye  ?  Ye  ain't  carryiii'  round 
with  ye  no  woman's  shoe  ?  " 

Key  felt  the  blood  drop  from  his  cheeks. 
"  What  do  you  mean  ? "  he  stammered, 
scarcely  daring  to  lift  his  conscious  eyelids 
to  his  companion's  glance.  But  when  he 
did  so  he  was  amazed  to  find  that  Collin- 


46         IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

son's  face  was  almost  as  much  disturbed  as 
his  own. 

"  I  know  it  ain't  the  square  thing  to  ask 
ye,  but  this  is  how  it  is,"  said  Collinson  hesi 
tatingly.  "Ye  see  just  down  by  the  fork  of 
the  trail  where  you  came  I  picked  up  a 
woman's  shoe.  It  sorter  got  me!  For  I 
sez  to  myself,  4  Thar  ain't  no  one  bin  by  my 
shanty,  comin'  or  goin',  for  weeks  but  you 
boys,  and  that  shoe,  from  the  looks  of  it, 
ain't  bin  there  as  many  hours.'  I  knew 
there  was  n't  any  wimin  hereabouts.  I  reck 
oned  it  could  n't  hev  bin  dropped  by  Uncle 
Dick  or  that  other  man,  for  you  would  have 
seen  it  on  the  road.  So  I  allowed  it  might 
have  bin  you.  And  yer  it  is."  He  slowly 
drew  from  his  pocket  —  what  Key  was  fully 
prepared  to  see- — the  mate  of  the  slipper 
Key  had  in  his  saddle-bags !  The  fair  fugi 
tive  had  evidently  lost  them  both. 

But  Key  was  better  prepared  now  (per 
haps  this  kind  of  dissimulation  is  progres 
sive),  and  quickly  alive  to  the  necessity  of 
throwing  Collinson  off  this  unexpected  scent. 
And  his  companion's  own  suggestion  was 
right  to  his  hand,  and,  as  it  seemed,  again 
quite  providential!  He  laughed,  with  a 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.         47 

quick  color,  which,  however,  appeared  to 
help  his  lie,  as  he  replied  half  hysterically, 
"  You  're  right,  old  man,  I  own  up,  it 's 
mine  !  It 's  d — d  silly,  I  know  —  but  then, 
we  're  all  fools  where  women  are  concerned 
-  and  I  would  n't  have  lost  that  slipper  for 
a  mint  of  money." 

He  held  out  his  hand  gayly,  but  Collin- 
son  retained  the  slipper  while  he  gravely 
examined  it. 

"  You  would  n't  mind  telling  me  where 
you  mought  hev  got  that?  "  he  said  medi 
tatively. 

"  Of  course  I  should  mind,"  said  Key 
with  a  well-affected  mingling  of  mirth  and 
indignation.  "  What  are  you  thinking  of, 
you  old  rascal?  What  do  you  take  me 
for?" 

But  Collinson  did  not  laugh.  "  You 
would  n't  mind  givin'  me  the  size  and  shape 
and  general  heft  of  her  as  wore  that  shoe  ?  " 

"Most  decidedly  I  should  do  nothing 
of  the  kind !  "  said  Key  half  impatiently. 
"  Enough,  that  it  was  given  to  me  by  a  very 
pretty  girl.  There !  that 's  all  you  will 
know." 

"  Given  to  you  ?  "  said  Collinson,  lifting 
his  eyes. 


48        IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

"  Yes,"  returned  Key  sharply. 

Colliiisoii  handed  him  the  slipper  gravely. 
"  I  only  asked  you,"  he  said  slowly,  but 
with  a  certain  quiet  dignity  which  Key  had 
never  before  seen  in  his  face,  "  because  thar 
was  suthin'  about  the  size,  and  shape,  and 
fillin'  out  o'  that  shoe  that  kinder  reminded 
me  of  some  'un  ;  but  that  some  'un  —  her  as 
mought  hev  stood  up  in  that  shoe  —  ain't  o' 
that  kind  as  would  ever  stand  in  the  shoes 
of  her  as  you  know  at  all."  The  rebuke,  if 
such  were  intended,  lay  quite  as  much  in  the 
utter  ignoring  of  Key's  airy  gallantry  and 
levity  as  in  any  conscious  slur  upon  the  fair 
fame  of  his  invented  Dulcinea.  Yet  Key 
oddly  felt  a  strong  inclination  to  resent  the 
aspersion  as  well  as  Collinson's  gratuitous 
morality ;  and  with  a  mean  recollection  of 
Uncle  Dick's  last  evening's  scandalous  gos 
sip,  he  said  sarcastically,  "  And,  of  course, 
that  some  one  you  were  thinking  of  was  your 
lawful  wife." 

"  It  wa%[  "  said  Collinson  gravely. 

Perhaps  it  was  something  in  Collinson's 
manner,  or  his  own  preoccupation,  but  he 
did  not  pursue  the  subject,  and  the  conver 
sation  lagged.  They  were  nearing,  too,  the 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.        49 

outer  edge  of  the  present  conflagration,  and 
the  smoke,  lying  low  in  the  unburnt  woods, 
or  creeping  like  an  actual  exhalation  of  the 
soil,  blinded  them  so  that  at  times  they  lost 
the  trail  completely.  At  other  times,  from 
the  intense  heat,  it  seemed  as  if  they  were 
momentarily  impinging  upon  the  burning 
area,  or  were  being  caught  in  a  closing  circle. 
It  was  remarkable  that  with  his  sudden  ac 
cession  of  fortune  Key  seemed  to  lose  his 
usual  frank  and  careless  fearlessness,  and 
impatiently  questioned  his  companion's  wood 
craft.  There  were  intervals  when  he  re 
gretted  his  haste  to  reach  Skinner's  by  this 
shorter  cut,  and  began  to  bitterly  attribute 
it  to  his  desire  to  serve  Collinson.  Ah,  yes ! 
it  would  be  fine  indeed,  if  just  as  he  were 
about  to  clutch  the  prize  he  should  be  sacri 
ficed  through  the  ignorance  and  stupidity  of 
this  heavy-handed  moralist  at  his  side !  But 
it  was  not  until,  through  that  moralist's 
guidance,  they  climbed  a  steep  acclivity  to  a 
second  ridge,  and  were  comparatively  safe, 
that  he  began  to  feel  ashamed  of  his  surly 
silence  or  surlier  interruptions.  And  Col 
linson,  either  through  his  unconquerable 
patience,  or  possibly  in  a  fit  of  his  usual 


50        IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

uxorious  abstraction,  appeared  to   take  no 
notice  of  it. 

A  sloping  table-land  of  weather-beaten 
boulders  now  effectually  separated  them  from 
the  fire  on  the  lower  ridge.  They  presently 
began  to  descend  on  the  further  side  of  the 
crest,  and  at  last  dropped  upon  a  wagon- 
road,  and  the  first  track  of  wheels  that  Key 
had  seen  for  a  fortnight.  Rude  as  it  was,  it 
seemed  to  him  the  highway  to  fortune,  for  he 
knew  that  it  passed  Skinner's  and  then  joined 
the  great  stage-road  to  Marysville,  —  now  his 
ultimate  destination.  A  few  rods  further  on 
they  came  in  view  of  Skinner's,  lying  like 
a  dingy  forgotten  winter  snowdrift  on  the 
mountain  shelf. 

It  contained  a  post-office,  tavern,  black 
smith's  shop,  "  general  store,"  and  express- 
office,  scarcely  a  dozen  buildings  in  all,  but 
all  differing  from  Collinson's  Mill  in  some 
vague  suggestion  of  vitality,  as  if  the  daily 
regular  pulse  of  civilization  still  beat,  albeit 
languidly,  in  that  remote  extremity.  There 
was  anticipation  and  accomplishment  twice 
a  day ;  and  as  Key  and  Collinson  rode  up 
to  the  express-office,  the  express-wagon  was 
standing  before  the  door  ready  to  start  to 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.        51 

meet  the  stagecoach  at  the  cross-roads  three 
miles  away.  This  again  seemed  a  special 
providence  to  Key.  He  had  a  brief  official 
communication  with  Skinner  as  registrar, 
and  duly  recorded  his  claim ;  he  had  a  hasty 
and  confidential  aside  with  Skinner  as  gen 
eral  storekeeper,  and  such  was  the  uncon 
scious  magnetism  developed  by  this  embryo 
millionaire  that  Skinner  extended  the  neces 
sary  credit  to  Collinson  on  Key's  word  alone. 
That  done,  he  rejoined  Collinson  in  high 
spirits  with  the  news,  adding  cheerfully, 
"  And  I  dare  say,  if  you  want  any  further 
advances  Skinner  will  give  them  to  you  on 
Parker's  draft." 

"  You  mean  that  bit  o'  paper  that  chap 
left,"  said  Collinson  gravely, 

"  Yes." 

"  I  tore  it  up," 

"  You  tore  it  up  ?  "  ejaculated  Key. 

"  You  hear  me  ?     Yes !  "  said  Collinson. 

Key  stared  at  him,  Surely  it  was  again 
providential  that  he  had  not  intrusted  his 
secret  to  this  utterly  ignorant  and  prejudiced 
man !  The  slight  twinges  of  conscience  that 
his  lie  about  the  slippers  had  caused  him 
disappeared  at  once.  He  could  not  have 


52         IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

trusted  him  even  in  that ;  it  would  have  been 
like  this  stupid  fanatic  to  have  prevented 
Key's  preemption  of  that  claim,  until  he, 
Collinson,  had  satisfied  himself  of  the  where 
abouts  of  the  missing  proprietor.  Was  he 
quite  sure  that  Collinson  would  not  revisit 
the  spot  when  he  had  gone  ?  But  he  was 
ready  for  the  emergency. 

He  had  intended  to  leave  his  horse  with 
Skinner  as  security  for  Collinson's  provisions, 
but  Skinner's  liberality  had  made  this  un 
necessary,  and  he  now  offered  it  to  Collinson 
to  use  and  keep  for  him  until  called  for. 
This  would  enable  his  companion  to  "pack" 
his  goods  on  the  mule,  and  oblige  him  to 
return  to  the  mill  by  the  wagon-road  and 
"  outside  trail,"  as  more  commodious  for  the 
two  animals. 

"Ye  ain't  af eared  o'  the  road  agents?" 
suggested  a  bystander ;  "  they  just  swarm  on 
Galloper's  Ridge,  and  they  '  held  up  '  the 
down  stage  only  last  week." 

"  They  're  not  so  lively  since  the  deputy- 
sheriff  's  got  a  new  idea  about  them,  and 
has  been  lying  low  in  the  brush  near  Bald 
Top,"  returned  Skinner.  "Anyhow,  they 
don't  stop  teams  nor  '  packs '  unless  there 's 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.         53 

a  chance  of  their  getting  some  fancy  horse 
flesh  by  it ;  and  I  reckon  thar  ain't  much  to 
tempt  them  thar,"  he  added,  with  a  satirical 
side  glance  at  his   customer's   cattle.     But 
Key  was  already  standing   in   the  express- 
wagon,  giving  a  farewell   shake  to  his  pa 
tient  companion's  hand,  and  this  ingenuous 
pleasantry  passed  unnoticed.     Nevertheless, 
as  the  express-wagon  rolled  away,  his  active 
fancy  began   to   consider   this   new   danger 
that  might  threaten  the  hidden   wealth  of 
his  claim.     But  he  reflected  that  for  a  time, 
at  least,  only  the  crude  ore  would  be  taken 
out  and  shipped  to    Marysville  in  a  shape 
that  offered  no  profit  to  the   highwaymen. 
Had  it  been  a  gold  mine !  —  but  here  again 
was  the  interposition  of  Providence  ! 

A  week  later  Preble  Key  returned  to 
Skinner's  with  a  foreman  and  ten  men,  and 
an  unlimited  credit  to  draw  upon  at  Marys 
ville  !  Expeditions  of  this  kind  created  no 
surprise  at  Skinner's.  Parties  had  before 
this  entered  the  wilderness  gayly,  none  knew 
where  or  what  for ;  the  sedate  and  silent 
woods  had  kept  their  secret  while  there ;  they 
had  evaporated,  none  knew  when  or  where 
—  often,  alas!  with  an  unpaid  account  at 


54         IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

Skinner's.  Consequently,  there  was  nothing 
in  Key's  party  to  challenge  curiosity.  In 
another  week  a  rambling,  one-storied .  shed 
of  pine  logs  occupied  the  site  of  the  mysteri 
ous  ruins,  and  contained  the  party ;  in  two 
weeks  excavations  had  been  made,  and  the 
whole  face  of  the  outcrop  was  exposed ;  in 
three  weeks  every  vestige  of  former  tenancy 
which  the  fire  had  not  consumed  was  trampled 
out  by  the  alien  feet  of  these  toilers  of  the 
"Sylvan  Silver  Hollow  Company."  None 
of  Key's  former  companions  would  have 
recognized  the  hollow  in  its  blackened  level 
ing  and  rocky  foundation;  even  Collinson 
would  not  have  remembered  this  stripped 
and  splintered  rock,  with  its  heaps  of  fresh 
debris,  as  the  place  where  he  had  overtaken 
Key.  And  Key  himself  had  forgotten,  in 
his  triumph,  everything  but  the  chance  ex 
periment  that  had  led  to  his  success. 

Perhaps  it  was  well,  therefore,  that  one 
night,  when  the  darkness  had  mercifully 
fallen  upon  this  scene  of  sylvan  desolation, 
and  its  still  more  incongruous  and  unsavory 
human  restoration,  and  the  low  murmur  of 
the  pines  occasionally  swelled  up  from  the 
unscathed  mountain-side,  a  loud  shout  and 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.         55 

the  trampling  of  horses'  feet  awoke  the  dwell 
ers  in  the  shanty.  Springing  to  their  feet, 
they  hurriedly  seized  their  weapons  and 
rushed  out,  only  to  be  confronted  by  a  dark, 
motionless  ring  of  horsemen,  two  flaming 
torches  of  pine  knots,  and  a  low  but  distinct 
voice  of  authority.  In  their  excitement, 
half -awakened  suspicion,  and  confusion,  they 
were  affected  by  its  note  of  calm  preparation 
and  conscious  power. 

"  Drop  those  guns  —  hold  up  your  hands  ! 
We  've  got  every  man  of  you  covered." 

Key  was    no   coward;    the  men,  though 
flustered,  were  not  cravens :  but  they  obeyed. 
"  Trot  out  your  leader I     Let  him  stand 
out  there,  clear,  beside  that  torch !  " 

One  of  the  gleaming  pine  knots  disengaged 
itself  from  the  dark  circle  and  moved  to  the 
centre,  as  Preble  Key,  cool  and  confident, 
stepped  beside  it. 

"  That  will  do,"  said  the  immutable  voice. 
"  Now,  we  want  Jack  Riggs,  Sydney  Jack, 
French  Pete,  and  One-eyed  Charley." 

A  vivid  reminiscence  of  the  former  night 
scene  in  the  hollow  —  of  his  own   and  his 
companions'  voices  raised  in  the  darkness  — 
flashed   across    Key.     With  an  instinctive 


56         IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

premonition  that  this  invasion  had  some 
thing  to  do  with  the  former  tenant,  he  said 
calmly :  — 

"  Who  wants  them  ?  " 
"  The  State  of  California,"  said  the  voice. 
"The     State    of     California   must    look 
further,"  returned  Key  in  his  old  pleasant 
voice  ;  "  there  are  no  such  names  among  my 
party." 

"  Who  are  you  ?  " 

"  The  manager  of  the  '  Sylvan  Silver 
Hollow  Company,'  and  these  are  my  work 
men." 

There  was  a  hurried  movement,  and  the 
sound  of  whispering  in  the  hitherto  dark  and 
silent  circle,  and  then  the  voice  rose  again  : 
"  You  have  the  papers  to  prove  that  ?  " 
"  Yes,  in  the  cabin.     And  you?  " 
"  I  've  a  warrant  to  the  sheriff  of  Sierra." 
There  was  a  pause,  and  the  voice  went  on 
less  confidently :  — 

"  How  long  have  you  been  here?  " 
"  Three  weeks.     I  came  here  the  day  of 
the  fire  and  took  up  this  claim." 
"  There  was  no  other  house  here  ?  " 
"There  were  ruins,  —  you  can   see  them 
still.     It  may  have  been  a  burnt-up  cabin." 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.        57 

The  voice  disengaged  itself  from  the  vague 
background  and  came  slowly  forwards :  - 

"It  was  a  den  of  thieves.  It  was  the 
hiding-place  of  Jack  Riggs  and  his  gang  of 
road  agents.  I've  been  hunting  this  spot 
for  three  weeks.  And  now  the  whole  thing  's 
up!" 

There  was  a  laugh  from  Key's  men,  but 
it  was  checked  as  the  owner  of  the  voice 
slowly  ranged  up  beside  the  burning  torch 
and  they  saw  his  face.  It  was  dark  and  set 
with  the  defeat  of  a  brave  man. 

"Won't  you  come  in  and  take  some 
thing?"  said  Key  kindly. 

"  No.  It 's  enough  fool  work  for  me  to 
have  routed  ye  out  already.  But  I  suppose 
it's  all  in  my  d — d  day's  work!  Good 
night  !  Forward  there  !  Get !  " 

The  two  torches  danced  forwards,  with 
the  trailing  off  of  vague  shadows  in  dim  pro 
cession  ;  there  was  a  clatter  over  the  rocks 
and  they  were  gone.  Then,  as  Preble  Key 
gazed  after  them,  he  felt  that  with  them  had 
passed  the  only  shadow  that  lay  upon  his 
great  fortune  ;  and  with  the  last  tenant  of 
the  hollow  a  proscribed  outlaw  and  fugitive, 
he  was  henceforth  forever  safe  in  his  claim 


58         IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

and  his  discovery.  And  yet,  oddly  enough, 
at  that  moment,  as  he  turned  away,  for  the 
first  time  in  three  weeks  there  passed  be 
fore  his  fancy  with  a  stirring  of  reproach 
a  vision  of  the  face  that  he  had  seen  at  the 
window. 


CHAPTER  III. 

OF  the  great  discovery  in  Sylvan  Silver 
Hollow  it  would  seem  that  Collinson  as  yet 
knew  nothing.  In  spite  of  Key's  fears  that 
he  might  stray  there  on  his  return  from 
Skinner's,  he  did  not,  nor  did  he  afterwards 
revisit  the  locality.  Neither  the  news  of  the 
registry  of  the  claim  nor  the  arrival  of  Key's 
workmen  ever  reached  him.  The  few  trav 
elers  who  passed  his  mill  came  from  the  val 
ley  to  cross  the  Divide  on  their  way  to  Skin 
ner's,  and  returned  by  the  longer  but  easier 
detour  of  the  stage -road  over  Galloper's 
Ridge.  He  had  no  chance  to  participate  in 
the  prosperity  that  flowed  from  the  opening 
of  the  mine,  which  plentifully  besprinkled 
Skinner's  settlement ;  he  was  too  far  away 
to  profit  even  by  the  chance  custom  of  Key's 
Sabbath  wandering  workmen.  His  isolation 
from  civilization  (for  those  who  came  to 
him  from  the  valley  were  rude  Western  emi 
grants  like  himself)  remained  undisturbed. 


60         IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

The  return  of  the  prospecting  party  to  his 
humble  hospitality  that  night  had  been  an 
exceptional  case  ;  in  his  characteristic  sim 
plicity  he  did  not  dream  that  it  was  because 
they  had  nowhere  else  to  go  in  their  pen 
niless  condition.  It  was  an  incident  to  be 
pleasantly  remembered,  but  whose  nonrecur- 
rence  did  not  disturb  his  infinite  patience. 
His  pork  barrel  and  flour  sack  had  been  re 
plenished  for  other  travelers  ;  his  own  wants 
were  few. 

It  was  a  day  or  two  after  the  midnight 
visit  of  the  sheriff  to  Silver  Hollow  that 
Key  galloped  down  the  steep  grade  to 
Collinson's.  He  was  amused,  albeit,  in  his 
new  importance,  a  little  aggrieved  also,  to 
find  that  Collinson  had  as  usual  confounded 
his  descent  with  that  of  the  generally  de 
tached  boulder,  and  that  he  was  obliged  to 
add  his  voice  to  the  general  uproar.  This 
brought  Collinson  to  his  door. 

O 

"  I  've  had  your  hoss  hobbled  out  among 
the  chickweed  and  clover  in  the  green  pas 
ture  back  o'  the  mill,  and  he  's  picked  up 
that  much  that  he 's  lookin'  fat  and  sassy," 
he  said  quietly,  beginning  to  mechanically 
unstrap  Key's  bridle,  even  while  his  guest 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.         61 

was  in  the  act  of  dismounting.    "  His  back 's 
quite  healed  up." 

Key  could  not  restrain  a  shrug  of  impa 
tience.  It  was  three  weeks  since  they  had 
met,  —  three  weeks  crammed  with  excite 
ment,  energy,  achievement,  and  fortune  to 
Key ;  and  yet  this  place  and  this  man  were 
as  stupidly  unchanged  as  when  he  had  left 
them.  A  momentary  fancy  that  this  was 
the  reality,  that  he  himself  was  only  awak 
ening  from  some  delusive  dream,  came  over 
him.  But  Collinson's  next  words  were 
practical. 

"  I  reckoned  that  maybe  you  'd  write 
from  Marysville  to  Skinner  to  send  for  the 
hoss,  and  forward  him  to  ye,  for  I  never 
kalkilated  you  'd  come  back." 

It  was  quite  plain  from  this  that  Colliii- 
son  had  heard  nothing.  But  it  was  also 
awkward,  as  Key  would  now  have  to  tell  the 
whole  story,  and  reveal  the  fact  that  he  had 
been  really  experimenting  when  Collinson 
overtook  him  in  the  hollow.  He  evaded  this 
by  post-dating  his  discovery  of  the  richness 
of  the  ore  until  he  had  reached  Marysville 
But  he  found  some  difficulty  in  recount 
ing  his  good  fortune :  he  was  naturally  no 


62         IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

boaster,  he  had  no  desire  to  impress  Collin- 
son  with  his  penetration,  nor  the  undaunted 
energy  he  had  displayed  in  getting  up  his 
company  and  opening  the  mine,  so  that  he 
was  actually  embarrassed  by  his  own  under 
statement  ;  and  under  the  grave,  patient  eyes 
of  his  companion,  told  his  story  at  best 
lamely.  Collinson's  face  betrayed  neither 
profound  interest  nor  the  slightest  resent 
ment.  When  Key  had  ended  his  awkward 
recital,  Collinson  said  slowly:  — 

"  Then  Uncle  Dick  and  that  other  Parker 
feller  ain't  got  no  show  in  this  yer  find." 

"  No,"  said  Key  quickly.  "  Don't  you 
remember  we  broke  up  our  partnership 
that  morning  and  went  off  our  own  ways. 
You  don't  suppose,"  he  added  with  a  forced 
half -laugh,  "  that  if  Uncle  Dick  or  Parker 
had  struck  a  lead  after  they  left  me,  they  'd 
have  put  me  in  it  ?  " 

"Would  n't  they?"  asked  Collinson 
gravely. 

"  Of  course  not."  He  laughed  a  little 
more  naturally,  but  presently  added,  with 
an  uneasy  smile,  "  What  makes  you  think 
they  would  ?  " 

"  Nuthin' !  "  said  Collinson  promptly. 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.         63 

Nevertheless,  when  they  were  seated  be 
fore  the  fire,  with  glasses  in  their  hands, 
Colliiison  returned  patiently  to  the  subject : 

"  You  wuz  saying  they  went  their  way, 
and  you  went  yours.  But  your  way  was 
back  on  the  old  way  that  you  'd  all  gone 
together." 

But  Key  felt  himself  on  firmer  ground 
here,  and  answered  deliberately  and  truth 
fully,  "Yes,  but  I  only  went  back  to  the 
hollow  to  satisfy  myself  if  there  really  was 
any  house  there,  and  if  there  was,  to  warn 
the  occupants  of  the  approaching  fire." 

"  And  there  was  a  house  there,"  said  Col- 
linson  thoughtfully. 

"  Only  the  ruins."  He  stopped  and 
flushed  quickly,  for  he  remembered  that  he 
had  denied  its  existence  at  their  former 
meeting.  "  That  is,"  he  went  on  hurriedly, 
"I  found  out  from  the  sheriff,  you  know, 
that  there  had  been  a  house  there.  But," 
he  added,  reverting  to  his  stronger  position, 
"  my  going  back  there  was  an  accident,  and 
my  picking  up  the  outcrop  was  an  accident, 
and  had  no  more  to  do  with  our  partner 
ship  prospecting  than  you  had.  In  fact," 
he  said,  with  a  reassuring  laugh,  "  you  'd 


64         IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

have  had  a  better  right  to  share  in  my  claim, 
coming  there  as  yon  did  at  that  moment, 
than  they.  Why,  if  I  'd  have  known  what 
the  thing  was  worth,  I  might  have  put  you 
in  —  only  it  wanted  capital  and  some  expe 
rience."  He  was  glad  that  he  had  pitched 
upon  that  excuse  (it  had  only  just  occurred 
to  him),  and  glanced  affably  at  Collinson. 
But  that  gentleman  said  soberly :  — 

"  No,  you  would  n't  nuther." 

"  Why  not?"  said  Key  half  angrily. 

Collinson  paused.  After  a  moment  he 
said,  "'Cos  I  wouldn't  hev  took  anything 
outer  thet  place." 

Key  felt  relieved.  From  what  he  knew 
of  Collinson's  vagaries  he  believed  him.  He 
was  wise  in  not  admitting  him  to  his  con 
fidences  at  the  beginning  ;  he  might  have 
thought  it  his  duty  to  tell  others. 

"  I  'm  not  so  particular,"  he  returned 
laughingly,  "  but  the  silver  in  that  hole  was 
never  touched,  nor  I  dare  say  even  imagined 
by  mortal  man  before.  However,  there  is 
something  else  about  the  hollow  that  I  want 
to  tell  you.  You  remember  the  slipper  that 
you  picked  up  ?  " 

«  Yes." 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.         65 

"  Well,  I  lied  to  you  about  that ;  I  never 
dropped  it.  On  the  contrary,  I  had  picked 
up  the  mate  of  it  very  near  where  you  found 
yours,  and  I  wanted  to  know  to  whom  it  be 
longed.  For  I  don't  mind  telling  you  now, 
Collinsoii,  that  I  believe  there  was  a  woman 
in  that  house,  and  the  same  woman  whose 
face  I  saw  at  the  window.  You  remember 
how  the  boys  joked  me  about  it  —  well,  per 
haps  I  did  n't  care  that  you  should  laugh  at 
me  too,  but  I  've  had  a  sore  conscience  over 
my  lie,  for  I  remembered  that  you  seemed  to 
have  some  interest  in  the  matter  too,  and  I 
thought  that  maybe  I  might  have  thrown 
you  off  the  scent.  It  seemed  to  me  that  if 
you  had  any  idea  who  it  was,  we  might  now 
talk  the  matter  over  and  compare  notes.  I 
think  you  said  —  at  least,  I  gathered  the 
idea  from  a  remark  of  yours,"  he  added 
hastily,  as  he  remembered  that  the  sugges 
tion  was  his  own,  and  a  satirical  one  — 
"  that  it  reminded  you  of  your  wife's  slip 
per.  Of  course,  as  your  wife  is  dead,  that 
would  offer  no  clue,  and  can  only  be  a 
chance  resemblance,  unless  "  -  He  stopped. 

"  Have  you  got  'em  yet  ?  " 

"  Yes,  both."     He  took  them  from  the 
pocket  of  his  riding- jacket. 


66         IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

As  Collinson  received  them,  his  face  took 
upon  itself  an  even  graver  expression.  "  It 's 
mighty  cur'ous,"  he  said  reflectively,  "  but 
looking  at  the  two  of  'em  the  likeness  is 
more  fetchin'.  Ye  see,  my  wife  had  a 
straight  foot,  and  never  wore  reg'lar  rights 
and  lefts  like  other  women,  but  kinder 
changed  about ;  ye  see,  these  shoes  is  reg'lar 
rights  and  lefts,  but  never  was  worn  as 
sich !  " 

"  There  may  be  other  women  as  peculiar," 
suggested  Key. 

"  There  must  be,"  said  Collinson  quietly. 

For  an  instant  Key  was  touched  with  the 
manly  security  of  the  reply^,  for,  remember 
ing  Uncle  Dick's  scandal,  it  had  occurred  to 
him  that  the  unknown  tenant  of  the  robbers' 
den  might  be  Collinson's  wife.  He  was  glad 
to  be  relieved  on  that  point,  and  went  on 
more  confidently :  — 

"  So,  you  see,  this  woman  was  undoubtedly 
in  that  house  on  the  night  of  the  fire.  She 
escaped,  and  in  a  mighty  hurry  too,  for  she 
had  not  time  to  change  her  slippers  for 
shoes;  she  escaped  on  horseback,  for  that 
is  how  she  lost  them.  Now  what  was  she 
doing  there  with  those  rascals,  for  the  face  I 
saw  looked  as  innocent  as  a  saint's." 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.         67 

"  Seemed  to  ye  sort  o'  coiitrairy,  jist  as  I 
reckoned  my  wife's  foot  would  have  looked 
in  a  slipper  that  you  said  was  giv  to  ye," 
suggested  Collinson  pointedly,  but  with  no 
implication  of  reproach  in  his  voice. 

"  Yes,"  said  Key  impatiently. 

"  I  Ve  read  yarns  afore  now  about  them 
Eyetalian  brigands  stealin'  women,"  said 
Collinson  reflectively,  "  but  that  ain't  Cal 
ifornia  road-agent  style.  Great  Scott!  if 
one  even  so  much  as  spoke  to  a  woman, 
they  'd  have  been  wiped  outer  the  State  long 
ao-o.  No  !  the  woman  as  was  there  came 

£b 

there  to  stay  !  " 

As  Key's  face  did  not  seem  to  express 
either  assent  or4  satisfaction  at  this  last 
statement,  Collinson,  after  a  glance  at  it, 
went  on  with  a  somewhat  gentler  gravity: 
"I  see  wot 's  troublin'  you,  Mr.  Key ; 
you  've  bin  thinkin'  that  mebbee  that  poor 
woman  might  hev  bin  the  better  for  a  bit  o' 
that  fortin'  that  you  discovered  under  the 
very  spot  where  them  slippers  of  hers  had 
often  trod.  You  're  thinkin'  that  mebbee 
it  might  hev  turned  her  and  those  men  from 
their  evil  ways." 

Mr.  Key  had  been  thinking  nothing  of 


68         IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

the  kind,  but  for  some  obscure  reason  the 
skeptical  jeer  that  had  risen  to  his  lips 
remained  unsaid.  He  rose  impatiently. 
"  Well,  there  seems  to  be  110  chance  of  dis 
covering  anything  now  ;  the  house  is  burnt, 
the  gang  dispersed,  and  she  has  probably 
gone  with  them."  He  paused,  and  then 
laid  three  or  four  large  gold  pieces  on  the 
table.  "  It 's  for  that  old  bill  of  our  party, 
CoUinson,"  he  said.  "  I  '11  settle  and  collect 
from  each.  Some  time  when  you  come  over 
to  the  mine,  and  I  hope  you  '11  give  us  a 
call,  you  can  bring  the  horse.  Meanwhile 
you  can  use  him ;  you  '11  find  he  's  a  little 
quicker  than  the  mule.  How  is  business  ?" 
he  added,  with  a  perfunctory  glance  around 
the  vacant  room  and  dusty  bar. 

"  Thar  ain't  much  passin'  this  way,"  said 
Collinson  with  equal  carelessness,  as  he 
gathered  up  the  money,  "  'cept  those  boys 
from  the  valley,  and  they  're  most  always 
strapped  when  they  come  here." 

Key  smiled  as  he  observed  that  Collinson 
offered  him  no  receipt,  and,  moreover,  as 
he  remembered  that  he  had  only  Collinson's 
word  for  the  destruction  of  Parker's  draft. 
But  he  merely  glanced  at  his  unconscious 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.         69 

host,  and  said  nothing.  After  a  pause  he 
returned  in  a  lighter  tone :  "I  suppose  you 
are  rather  out  of  the  world  here.  Indeed,  I 
had  an  idea  at  first  of  buying  out  your  mill, 
Collinson,  and  putting  in  steam  power  to  get 
out  timber  for  our  new  buildings,  but  you 
see  you  are  so  far  away  from  the  wagon- 
road,  that  we  could  n't  haul  the  timber  away. 
That  was  the  trouble,  or  I  'd  have  made  you 
a  fair  offer." 

"I  don't  reckon  to  ever  sell  the  mill," 
said  Collinson  simply.  Then  observing  the 
look  of  suspicion  in  his  companion's  face,  he 
added  gravely,  uYou  see,  I  rigged  up  the 
whole  thing  when  I  expected  my  wife  out 
from  the  States,  and  I  calkilate  to  keep  it 
in  memory  of  her." 

Key  slightly  lifted  his  brows.  "  But  you 
never  told  us,  by  the  way,  how  you  ever 
came  to  put  up  a  mill  here  with  such  an  un 
certain  water-supply." 

"  It  was  n't  onsartin  when  I  came  here, 
Mr.  Key ;  it  was  a  full-fed  stream  straight 
from  them  snow  peaks.  It  was  the  earth 
quake  did  it." 

"  The  earthquake  !  "  repeated  Key. 

"  Yes.     Ef  the  earthquake  kin  heave  up 


70         IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

that  silver-bearing  rock  that  you  told  us 
about  the  first  day  you  kem  here,  and  that 
you  found  t'  other  day,  it  could  play  roots 
with  a  mere  mill-stream,  I  reckon." 

"  But  the  convulsion  I  spoke  of  happened 
ages  on  ages  ago,  when  this  whole  mountain 
range  was  being  fashioned,"  said  Key  with 
a  laugh. 

"  Well,  this  yer  earthquake  was  ten  years 
ago,  just  after  I  came.  I  reckon  I  oughter 
remember  it.  It  was  a  queer  sort  o'  day  in 
the  fall,  dry  and  hot  as  if  thar  might  hev 
bin  a  fire  in  the  woods,  only  thar  was  n't 
no  wind.  Not  a  breath  of  air  anywhar. 
The  leaves  of  them  alders  hung  straight  as 
a  plumb-line.  Except  for  that  thar  stream 
and  that  thar  wheel,  nuthin'  moved.  Thar 
was  n't  a  bird  on  the  wing  over  that  caiion ; 
thar  was  n't  a  squirrel  skirmishin'  in  the 
hull  wood;  even  the  lizards  in  the  rocks 
stiffened  like  stone  Chinese  idols.  It  kept 
gettin'  quieter  and  quieter,  ontil  I  walked 
out  on  that  ledge  and  felt  as  if  I  'd  have  to 
give  a  yell  just  to  hear  my  own  voice.  Thar 
was  a  thin  veil  over  everything,  and  betwixt 
and  between  everything,  and  the  sun  was 
rooted  in  the  middle  of  it  as  if  it  could  n't 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.         71 

move    neither.       Everythin'    seemed   to   be 
waitin',    waitin',    waitin'.      Then    all   of    a 
suddin  suthin'   seemed  to  give   somewhar ! 
Sutliin'  fetched  away  with  a  queer  sort  of 
rumblin',    as  if  the  peg  had  slipped  outer 
creation.     I  looked  up  and  kalkilated  to  see 
half  a  dozen  of  them  boulders  come,  lickity 
switch,  down  the  grade.    But,  darn  my  skin, 
if  one  of  'em  stirred !  and  yet  while  I  was 
looking,  the  whole  face  o'  that  bluff  bowed 
over    softly,  as   if    saying  '  Good-by,'    and 
got  clean  away  somewhar  before  I  knowed 
it.     ^hy,  you  see  that  pile  agin  the  side  o' 
the   canon  !     Well,  a  thousand  feet  under 
that  there 's  trees,  three  hundred  feet  high, 
still  upright  and  standin'.     You  know  how 
them  pines  over  on  that  far  mountain-side 
always  seem  to  be  climbin'  up,  up,  up,  over 
each  other's  heads  to  the  very  top?     Well, 
Mr.  Key,  /  saw  'em  climbin'  !     And  when  I 
pulled  myself  together  and  got  back  to  the 
mill,  everything  was  quiet ;    and,  by  G — d, 
so  was  the  mill-wheel,  and  there  was  n't  two 
inches  of  water  in  the  river !  " 

"And  what  did  you  think  of  it?"  said 
Key,  interested  in  spite  of  his  impatience. 

« I  thought,  Mr.  Key  -      No  !  I  must  n't 


72         IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

say  I  thought,  for  I  knowed  it.  I  knowed 
that  suthin'  had  happened  to  my  wife ! " 

Key  did  not  smile,  but  even  felt  a  faint 
superstitious  thrill  as  he  gazed  at  him. 
After  a  pause  Collinson  resumed  :  "I heard 
a  month  after  that  she  had  died  about  that 
time  o'  yaller  fever  in  Texas  with  the  party 
she  was  comin'  with.  Her  folks  wrote  that 
they  died  like  flies,  and  wuz  all  buried  to 
gether,  unbeknownst  and  promiscuous,  and 
thar  was  n't  no  remains.  She  slipped  away 
from  me  like  that  bluff  over  that  canon,  and 
that  was  the  end  of  it." 

"  But  she  might  have  escaped,"  said  Key 
quickly,  forgetting  himself  in  his  eagerness. 

But  Collinson  only  shook  his  head.  "  Then 
she  'd  have  been  here,"  he  said  gravely. 

Key  moved  towards  the  door  still  ab 
stractedly,  held  out  his  hand,  shook  that  of 
his  companion  warmly,  and  then,  saddling 
his  horse  himself,  departed.  A  sense  of 
disappointment  —  in  which  a  vague  dissatis 
faction  with  himself  was  mingled  —  was  all 
that  had  come  of  his  interview.  He  took 
himself  severely  to  task  for  following  his  ro 
mantic  quest  so  far.  It  was  unworthy  of 
the  president  of  the  Sylvan  Silver  Hollow 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.         73 

Company,  and   he  was  not  quite  sure  but 
that  his  confidences  with    Collinson    might 
have   imperiled   even    the  interests   of   the 
company.     To  atone  for  this  momentary  ab 
erration,  and  correct  his  dismal  fancies,  he 
resolved  to  attend  to  some  business  at  Skin 
ner's  before  returning,  and  branched  off  on 
a  long  detour  that  would  intersect  the  trav 
eled  stage -road.     But  here  a  singular  inci 
dent  overtook  him.     As  he  wheeled  into  the 
turnpike,  he  heard  the  trampling  hoof -beats 
and  jingling  harness  of  the  oncoming  coach 
behind  him.     He  had  barely  time  to  draw 
up  against  the  bank  before  the  six  galloping 
horses  and  swinging  vehicle  swept   heavily 
by.     He  had  a  quick  impression  of  the  heat 
and  steam  of  sweating  horse-hide,  the  reek 
of  varnish  and  leather,  and  the  momentary 
vision  of  a  female  face  silhouetted   against 
the  glass  window  of  the  coach !     But  even 
in  that  flash  of  perception  he  recognized  the 
profile  that  he  had   seen  at  the  window  of 
the  mysterious  hut ! 

He  halted  for  an  instant  dazed  and  be 
wildered  in  the  dust  of  the  departing  wheels. 
Then,  as  the  bulk  of  the  vehicle  reappeared, 
already  narrowing  in  the  distance,  without  a 


74         IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

second  thought  he  dashed  after  it.  His  dis 
appointment,  his  self-criticism,  his  practical 
resolutions  were  forgotten.  He  had  but  one 
idea  now  —  the  vision  was  providential ! 
The  clue  to  the  mystery  was  before  him  — 
he  must  follow  it ! 

Yet  he  had  sense  enough  to  realize  that 
the  coach  would  not  stop  to  take  up  a  pas 
senger  between  stations,  and  that  the  next 
station  was  the  one  three  miles  below  Skin 
ner's.  It  would  not  be  difficult  to  reach 
this  by  a  cut-off  in  time,  and  although  the 
vehicle  had  appeared  to  be  crowded,  he  could 
no  doubt  obtain  a  seat  on  top. 

His  eager  curiosity,  however,  led  him  to 
put  spurs  to  his  horse,  and  range  up  along 
side  of  the  coach  as  if  passing  it,  while  he 
examined  the  stranger  more  closely.  Her 
face  was  bent  listlessly  over  a  book ;  there 
was  unmistakably  the  same  profile  that  he 
had  seen,  but  the  full  face  was  different  in 
outline  and  expression.  A  strange  sense  of 
disappointment  that  was  almost  a  revulsion 
of  feeling  came  over  him;  he  lingered,  he 
glanced  again;  she  was  certainly  a  very 
pretty  woman  :  there  was  the  beautifully 
rounded  chin,  the  short  straight  nose,  and 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.         75 

delicately  curved  upper  lip,  that  he  had  seen 
in  the  profile,  —  and  yet  —  yet  it  was  not 
the  same  face  he  had  dreamt  of.  With  an 
odd,  provoking  sense  of  disillusion,  he  swept 
ahead  of  the  coach,  and  again  slackened  his 
speed  to  let  it  pass.  This  time  the  fair  un 
known  raised  her  long  lashes  and  gazed  sud 
denly  at  this  persistent  horseman  at  her  side, 
and  an  odd  expression,  it  seemed  to  him 
almost  a  glance  of  recognition  and  expecta 
tion,  came  into  her  dark,  languid  eyes.  The 
pupils  concentrated  upon  him  with  a  sin 
gular  significance,  that  was  almost,  he  even 
thought,  a  reply  to  his  glance,  and  yet  it 
was  as  utterly  unintelligible.  A  moment 
later,  however,  it  was  explained.  He  had 
fallen  slightly  behind  in  a  new  confusion  of 
hesitation,  wonder,  and  embarrassment,  when 
from  a  wooded  trail  to  the  right,  another 
horseman  suddenly  swept  into  the  road  be 
fore  him.  He  was  a  powerfully  built  man, 
mounted  on  a  thoroughbred  horse  of  a  quality 
far  superior  to  the  ordinary  roadster.  With 
out  looking  at  Key  he  easily  ranged  up  be 
side  the  coach  as  if  to  pass  it,  but  Key,  with 
a  sudden  resolution,  put  spurs  to  his  own 
horse  and  ranged  also  abreast  of  him,  in 


76         IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

time  to  see  his  fair  unknown  start  at  the  ap 
parition  of  this  second  horseman  and  unmis 
takably  convey  some  signal  to  him,  —  a  sig 
nal  that  to  Key's  fancy  now  betrayed  some 
warning  of  himself.  He  was  the  more  con 
vinced  as  the  stranger,  after  continuing  a 
few  paces  ahead  of  the  coach,  allowed  it  to 
pass  him  at  a  curve  of  the  road,  and  slack 
ened  his  pace  to  permit  Key  to  do  the  same. 
Instinctively  conscious  that  the  stranger's 
object  was  to  scrutinize  or  identify  him,  he 
determined  to  take  the  initiative,  and  fixed 
his  eyes  upon  him  as  they  approached.  But 
the  stranger,  who  wore  a  loose  brown  linen 
duster  over  clothes  that  appeared  to  be 
superior  in  fashion  and  material,  also  had 
part  of  his  face  and  head  draped  by  a  white 
silk  handkerchief  worn  under  his  hat,  osten 
sibly  to  keep  the  sun  and  dust  from  his  head 
and  neck,  —  and  had  the  advantage  of  him. 
He  only  caught  the  flash  of  a  pair  of  steel- 
gray  eyes,  as  the  newcomer,  apparently  hav 
ing  satisfied  himself,  gave  rein  to  his  spirited 
steed  and  easily  repassed  the  coach,  disap 
pearing  in  a  cloud  of  dust  before  it.  But 
Key  had  by  this  time  reached  the  "  cut-off," 
which  the  stranger,  if  he  intended  to  follow 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.         77 

the  coach,  either  disdained  or  was  ignorant 
of,  and  he  urged  his  horse  to  its  utmost 
speed.  Even  with  the  stranger's  advantages 
it  would  be  a  close  race  to  the  station. 

Nevertheless,  as  he  dashed  on,  he  was  by 
no  means  insensible  to  the  somewhat  quix 
otic  nature  of  his  undertaking.  If  he  was 
right  in  his  suspicion  that  a  signal  had  been 
given  by  the  lady  to  the  stranger,  it  was  ex 
ceedingly  probable  that  he  had  discovered 
not  only  the  fair  inmate  of  the  robbers'  den, 
but  one  of  the  gang  itself,  or  at  least  a  con 
federate  and  ally.  Yet  far  from  deterring 
him,  in  that  ingenious  sophistry  with  which 
he  was  apt  to  treat  his  romance,  he  now 
looked  upon  his  adventure  as  a  practical 
pursuit  in  the  interests  of  law  and  justice. 
It  was  true  that  it  was  said  that  the  band  of 
road  agents  had  been  dispersed ;  it  was  a 
fact  that  there  had  been  no  spoliation  of 
coach  or  teams  for  three  weeks  ;  but  none  of 
the  depredators  had  ever  been  caught,  and 
their  booty,  which  was  considerable,  was 
known  to  be  still  intact.  It  was  to  the  in 
terest  of  the  mine,  his  partners,  and  his 
workmen  that  this  clue  to  a  danger  which 
threatened  the  locality  should  be  followed  to 


78         IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

the  end.  As  to  the  lady,  in  spite  of  the 
disappointment  that  still  rankled  in  his 
breast,  he  could  be  magnanimous !  She 
might  be  the  paramour  of  the  strange  horse 
man,  she  might  be  only  escaping  from  some 
hateful  companionship  by  his  aid.  And  yet 
one  thing  puzzled  him  :  she  was  evidently 
not  acquainted  with  the  personality  of  the 
active  gang,  for  she  had,  without  doubt,  at 
first  mistaken  him  for  one  of  them,  and  after 
recognizing  her  real  accomplice  had  commu 
nicated  her  mistake  to  him. 

It  was  a  great  relief  to  him  when  the 
rough  and  tangled  "  cut-off  "  at  last  broad 
ened  and  lightened  into  the  turnpike  road 
again,  and  he  beheld,  scarcely  a  quarter  of 
a  mile  before  him,  the  dust  cloud  that  over 
hung  the  coach  as  it  drew  up  at  the  lonely 
wayside  station.  He  was  in  time,  for  he 
knew  that  the  horses  were  changed  there ; 
but  a  sudden  fear  that  the  fair  unknown 
might  alight,  or  take  some  other  conveyance, 
made  him  still  spur  his  jaded  steed  forward. 
As  he  neared  the  station  he  glanced  eagerly 
around  for  the  other  horseman,  but  he  was 
nowhere  to  be  seen.  He  had  evidently  either 
abandoned  the  chase  or  ridden  ahead. 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.         79 

It  seemed  equally  a  part  of  what  he  be 
lieved  was  a  providential  intercession,  that 
on  arriving  at  the  station  he  found  there 
was  a  vacant  seat  inside  the  coach.  It  was 
diagonally  opposite  that  occupied  by  the 
lady,  and  he  was  thus  enabled  to  study  her 
face  as  it  was  bent  over  her  book,  whose 
pages,  however,  she  scarcely  turned.  After 
her  first  casual  glance  of  curiosity  at  the 
new  passenger,  she  seemed  to  take  no  more 
notice  of  him,  and  Key  began  to  wonder  if 
he  had  not  mistaken  her  previous  interrogat 
ing  look.  Nor  was  it  his  only  disturbing 
query ;  he  was  conscious  of  the  same  disap 
pointment  now  that  he  could  examine  her 
face  more  attentively,  as  in  his  first  cursory 
glance.  She  was  certainly  handsome ;  if 
there  was  no  longer  the  freshness  of  youth, 
there  was  still  the  indefinable  charm  of  the 
woman  of  thirty,  and  with  it  the  delicate 
curves  of  matured  muliebrity  and  repose. 
There  were  lines,  particularly  around  the 
mouth  and  fringed  eyelids,  that  were  deep 
ened  as  by  pain  ;  and  the  chin,  even  in  its 
rounded  fullness,  had  the  angle  of  deter 
mination.  From  what  was  visible,  below 
the  brown  linen  duster  that  she  wore,  she 


80         IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

appeared  to  be  tastefully  although  not  richly 
dressed. 

As  the  coach  at  last  drove  away  from  the 
station,  a  grizzled,  farmer-looking  man  seated 
beside  her  uttered  a  sigh  of  relief,  so  pal 
pable  as  to  attract  the  general  attention. 
Turning  to  his  fair  neighbor  with  a  smile 
of  uncouth  but  good-humored  apology,  he 
said  in  explanation  :  — 

"  You  '11  excuse  me,  miss  !  I  don't  know 
ezactly  how  you  're  feelin',  —  for  judging 
from  your  looks  and  gin'ral  gait,  you  're  a 
stranger  in  these  parts,  —  but  ez  for  me,  I 
don't  mind  say  in'  that  I  never  feel  ezactly 
safe  from  these  yer  road  agents  and  stage 
robbers  ontil  arter  we  pass  Skinner's  station. 
All  along  thet  Galloper's  Kidge  it's  jest 
tech  and  go  like;  the  woods  is  swarmin' 
with  'em.  But  once  past  Skinner's,  you  're 
all  right.  They  never  dare  go  below  that. 
So  ef  you  don't  mind,  miss,  for  it 's  bein' 
in  your  presence,  I  '11  jest  pull  off  my  butes 
and  ease  my  feet  for  a  spell." 

Neither  the  inconsequence  of  this  singu 
lar  request,  nor  the  smile  it  evoked  on  the 
faces  of  the  other  passengers,  seemed  to  dis 
turb  the  lady's  abstraction.  Scarcely  lifting 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.         81 

her  eyes  from  her  book,  she  bowed  a  grave 
assent. 

"You  see,  miss,"  he  continued,  "and 
you  gents,"  he  added,  taking  the  whole 
coach  into  his  confidence,  "  I  've  got  over 
forty  ounces  of  clean  gold  dust  in  them 
butes,  between  the  upper  and  lower  sole,  — 
and  it 's  mighty  tight  packing  for  my  feet. 
Ye  kin  heft  it,"  he  said,  as  he  removed  one 
boot  and  held  it  up  before  them.  "  I  put 
the  dust  there  for  safety  —  kalkilatin'  that 
while  these  road  gentry  allus  goes  for  a 
man's  pockets  and  his  body  belt,  they  never 
thinks  of  his  butes,  or  have  n't  time  to  go 
through  'em."  He  looked  around  him  with 
a  smile  of  self-satisfaction. 

The  murmur  of  admiring  comment  was, 
however,  broken  by  a  burly-bearded  miner 
who  sat  in  the  middle  seat.  "  Thet  's  pretty 
fair,  as  far  as  it  goes,"  he  said  smilingly, 
"  but  I  reckon  it  would  n't  go  far  ef  you 
started  to  run.  I've  got  a  simpler  game 
than  that,  gentlemen,  and  ez  we  're  all 
friends  here,  and  the  danger 's  over,  I  don't 
mind  tellin'  ye.  The  first  thing  these  yer 
road  agents  do,  after  they  've  covered  the 
driver  with  their  shot  guns,  is  to  make  the 


82         IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

passengers  get  out  and  hold  up  their  hands. 
That,  ma'am," -  — explanatorily  to  the  lady, 
who  betrayed  only  a  languid  interest,  —  "  is 
to  keep  'em  from  drawing  their  revolvers. 
A  revolver  is  the  last  thing  a  road  agent 
wants,  either  in  a  man's  hand  or  in  his 
holster.  So  I  sez  to  myself,  '  Ef  a  six- 
shooter  ain't  of  no  account,  wot 's  the  use 
of  carryin'  it  ?  '  So  I  just  put  my  shooting- 
iron  in  my  valise  when  I  travel,  and  fill 
my  holster  with  my  gold  dust,  so !  It 's  a 
deuced  sight  heavier  than  a  revolver,  but 
they  don't  feel  its  weight,  and  don't  keer  to 
come  nigh  it.  And  I  've  been  c  held  up ' 
twice  on  t'  other  side  of  the  Divide  this 
year,  and  I  passed  free  every  time !  " 

The  applause  that  followed  this  revelation 
and  the  exhibition  of  the  holster  not  only 
threw  the  farmer's  exploits  into  the  shade, 
but  seemed  to  excite  an  emulation  among 
the  passengers.  Other  methods  of  securing 
their  property  were  freely  discussed ;  but 
the  excitement  culminated  in  the  leaning 
forward  of  a  passenger  who  had,  up  to  that 
moment,  maintained  a  reserve  almost  equal 
to  the  fair  unknown.  His  dress  and  gen 
eral  appearance  were  those  of  a  professional 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.         83 

man ;  his   voice   and   manner   corroborated 
the  presumption. 

"I   don't   think,   gentlemen,"    he   began 
with  a  pleasant  smile,  "  that  any  man  of  us 
here  would  like  to  be  called  a  coward ;  but 
in    fighting  with  an   enemy  who  never   at 
tacks,  or  even  appears,  except  with  a  delib 
erately  prepared  advantage  on  his  side,  it 
is  my  opinion  that  a  man  is  not  only  justi 
fied  in  avoiding  an  unequal  encounter  with 
him,  but  in  circumventing  by  every  means 
the  object  of  his  attack.     You  have  all  been 
frank    in  telling  your  methods.     I  will  be 
equally  so  in  telling  mine,  even  if  I  have 
perhaps  to  confess  to  a  little  more  than  you 
have;    for  I  have  not   only  availed  myself 
of    a  well-known    rule  of    the  robbers  who 
infest  these  mountains,  to  exempt  all  women 
and  children  from  their  spoliation,  —  a  rule 
which,  of  course,  they  perfectly  understand 
gives  them  a  sentimental  consideration  with 
all  Californians,  —  but  I   have,   I   confess, 
also  availed  myself  of  the  innocent  kindness 
of  one  of  that  charming  and  justly  exempted 
sex."     He  paused  and  bowed  courteously  to 
the  fair  unknown.     "  When  I  entered  this 
coach  I  had  with  me  a  bulky  parcel  which 


84         IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

was  manifestly  too  large  for  my  pockets, 
yet  as  evidently  too  small  and  too  valuable 
to  be  intrusted  to  the  ordinary  luggage. 
Seeing  my  difficulty,  our  charming  compan 
ion  opposite,  out  of  the  very  kindness  and 
innocence  of  her  heart,  offered  to  make  a 
place  for  it  in  her  satchel,  which  was  not 
full.  I  accepted  the  offer  joyfully.  When 
I  state  to  you,  gentlemen,  that  that  package 
contained  valuable  government  bonds  to  a 
considerable  amount,  I  do  so,  not  to  claim 
your  praise  for  any  originality  of  my  own, 
but  to  make  this  public  avowal  to  our  fair 
fellow  passenger  for  securing  to  me  this 
most  perfect  security  and  immunity  from 
the  road  agent  that  has  been  yet  recorded." 
With  his  eyes  riveted  on  the  lady's  face, 
Key  saw  a  faint  color  rise  to  her  other 
wise  impassive  face,  which  might  have  been 
called  out  by  the  enthusiastic  praise  that 
followed  the  lawyer's  confession.  But  he 
was  painfully  conscious  of  what  now  seemed 
to  him  a  monstrous  situation !  Here  was, 
he  believed,  the  actual  accomplice  of  the 
road  agents  calmly  receiving  the  complacent 
and  puerile  confessions  of  the  men  who 
were  seeking  to  outwit  them.  Could  he,  in 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.         85 

ordinary  justice  to  them,  to  himself,  or  the 
mission  he  conceived  he  was  pursuing,  re 
frain  from  exposing  her,  or  warning  them 
privately?  But  was  he  certain?  Was  a 
vague  remembrance  of  a  profile  momenta 
rily  seen  —  and,  as  he  must  even  now  admit, 
inconsistent  with  the  full  face  he  was  gaz 
ing  at — sufficient  for  such  an  accusation? 
More  than  that,  was  the  protection  she  had 
apparently  afforded  the  lawyer  consistent 
with  the  function  of  an  accomplice ! 

"  Then  if  the  danger  's  over,"  said  the 
lady  gently,  reaching  down  to  draw  her 
satchel  from  under  the  seat,  "  I  suppose  I 
may  return  it  to  you." 

"  By  no  means  !     Don't  trouble  yourself  ! 
Pray  allow  me  to  still  remain  your  debtor,  — 
at  least  as  far  as  the  next  station,"  said  the 
lawyer  gallantly. 

The  lady  uttered  a  languid  sigh,  sank 
back  in  her  seat,  and  calmly  settled  herself 
to  the  perusal  of  her  book.  Key  felt  his 
cheeks  beginning  to  burn  with  the  embar 
rassment  and  shame  of  his  evident  miscon 
ception.  And  here  he  was  on  his  way  to 
Marysville,  to  follow  a  woman  for  whom 
he  felt  he  no  longer  cared,  and  for  whose 


86         IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

pursuit    he   had    no    longer    the    excuse    of 
justice. 

"  Then  I  understand  that  you  have  twice 
seen  these  road  agents,"  said  the  profes 
sional  man,  turning  to  the  miner.  "  Of 
course,  you  could  be  able  to  identify  them  ?  " 

"  Nary  a  man !  You  see  they  're  all 
masked,  and  only  one  of  'em  ever  speaks." 

"The  leader  or 'chief?" 

"  No,  the  orator." 

"  The  orator  ?  "  repeated  the  professional 
man  in  amazement. 

"  Well,  you  see,  /  call  him  the  orator, 
for  he  's  mighty  glib  with  his  tongue,  and 
reels  off  all  he  has  to  say  like  as  if  he  had 
it  by  heart.  He 's  mighty  rough  on  you, 
too,  sometimes,  for  all  his  high-toned  style. 
Ef  he  thinks  a  man  is  hidin'  anything  he 
jest  scalps  him  with  his  tongue,  and  blamed 
if  I  don't  think  he  likes  the  chance  of  doin' 
it.  He  's  got  a  regular  set  speech,  and  he  's 
bound  to  go  through  it  all,  even  if  he  makes 
everything  wait,  and  runs  the  risk  of  cap 
ture.  Yet  he  ain't  the  chief,  —  and  even 
I  've  heard  folks  say  ain't  got  any  responsi 
bility  if  he  is  took,  for  he  don't  tech  any 
body  or  anybody's  money,  and  couldn't 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.         87 

be  prosecuted.     I  reckon  he 's  some  sort  of 
a  broken-down  lawyer  —  d'  ye  see  ?  " 

"Not  much  of  a  lawyer,  I  imagine,"  said 
the  professional  man,  smiling,  "  f  or  he'll 
find  himself  quite  mistaken  as  to  his  share 
of  responsibility.  But  it 's  a  rather  clever 
way  of  concealing  the  identity  of  the  real 
leader." 

"  It  's  the  smartest  gang  that  was  ever 
started  in  the  Sierras.  They  fooled  the 
sheriff  of  Sierra  the  other. clay.  They  gave 
him  a  sort  of  idea  that  they  had  a  kind  of 
hidin'-place  in  the  woods  whar  they  met 
and  kept  their  booty,  and,  by  jinks!  he 
goes  down  thar  with  his  hull  posse,  —  just 
spilin'  for  a  fight,  —  and  only  lights  upon 
a  gang  of  innocent  greenhorns,  who  were 
boring  for  silver  on  the  very  spot  where  he 
allowed  the  robbers  had  their  den!  He 
ain't  held  up  his  head  since." 

Key  cast  a  quick  glance  at  the  lady  to  see 
the  effect  of  this  revelation.     But  her  face 

if  the  same  profile  he  had   seen  at  the 

window  —  betrayed  neither  concern  nor 
curiosity.  He  let  his  eyes  drop  to  the  smart 
boot  that  peeped  from  below  her  gown,  and 
the  thought  of  his  trying  to  identify  it  with 


88         I^  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

the  slipper  he  had  picked  up  seemed  to  him 
as  ridiculous  as  his  other  misconceptions. 
He  sank  back  gloomily  in  his  seat;  by 
degrees  the  fatigue  and  excitement  of  the 
day  began  to  mercifully  benumb  his  senses ; 
twilight  had  fallen  and  the  talk  had  ceased. 
The  lady  had  allowed  her  book  to  drop  in 
her  lap  as  the  darkness  gathered,  and  had 
closed  her  eyes ;  he  closed  his  own,  and 
slipped  away  presently  into  a  dream,  in  which 
he  saw  the  profile  again  as  he  had  seen  it  in 
the  darkness  of  the  hollow,  only  that  this 
time  it  changed  to  a  full  face,  unlike  the 
lady's  or  any  one  he  had  ever  seen.  Then 
the  window  seemed  to  open  with  a  rattle,  and 
he  again  felt  the  cool  odors  of  the  forest ;  but 
he  awoke  to  find  that  the  lady  had  only 
'opened  her  window  for  a  breath  of  fresh  air. 
It  was  nearly  eight  o'  clock ;  it  would  be  an 
hour  yet  before  the  coach  stopped  at  the 
next  station  for  supper ;  the  passengers  were 
drowsily  nodding;  he  closed  his  eyes  and 
fell  into  a  deeper  sleep,  from  which  he  awoke 
with  a  start. 

The  coach  had  stopped ! 


CHAPTER  IV. 

"  IT  can't  be  Three  Pines  yet,"  said  a 
passenger's  voice,  in  which  the  laziness  of 
sleep  still  lingered,  "  or  else  we  've  snoozed 
over  five  mile.  I  don't  see  no  lights  ;  wot 
are  we  stoppiii'  f or  ?  "  The  other  passengers 
struggled  to  an  upright  position.  One  near 
est  the  window  opened  it;  its  place  was 
instantly  occupied  by  the  double  muzzle  of 
a  shot-gun  !  No  one  moved.  In  the  awe- 
stricken  silence  the  voice  of  the  driver  rose 
in  drawling  protestation. 

"  It  ain't  110  business  o'  mine,  but  it 
sorter  strikes  me  that  you  chaps  are  a-playin' 
it  just  a  little  too  fine  this  time !  It  ain't 
three  miles  from  Three  Pine  Station  and 
forty  men !  Of  course,  that 's  your  lookout, 
—  not  mine  !  " 

The  audacity  of  the  thing  had  evidently 
struck  even  the  usually  taciturn  and  phleg 
matic  driver  into  his  first  expostulation  on 
record. 


90        IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

"  Your  thoughtful  consideration  does  you 
great  credit,"  said  a  voice  from  the  dark 
ness,  "  and  shall  be  properly  presented  to 
our  manager ;  but  at  the  same  time  we  wish 
it  understood  that  we  do  not  hesitate  to  take 
any  risks  in  strict  attention  to  our  business 
and  our  clients.  In  the  mean  time  you  will 
expedite  matters,  and  give  your  passengers 
a  chance  to  get  an  early  tea  at  Three  Pines, 
by  handing  down  that  treasure-box  and  mail- 
pouch.  Be  careful  in  handling  that  blun 
derbuss  you  keep  beside  it;  the  last  time 
it  unfortunately  went  off,  and  I  regret  to 
say  slightly  wounded  one  of  your  passengers. 
Accidents  of  this  kind,  interfering,  as  they 
do,  with  the  harmony  and  pleasure  of  our 
chance  meetings,  cannot  be  too  highly  de 
plored." 

"  By  gosh !  "  ejaculated  an  outside  pas 
senger  in  an  audible  whisper. 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  said  the  voice  quietly ; 
"  but  as  I  overlooked  you,  I  will  trouble  you 
now  to  descend  with  the  others." 

The  voice  moved  nearer ;  and,  by  the  light 
of  a  flaming  bull's-eye  cast  upon  the  coach,  it 
could  be  seen  to  come  from  a  stout,  medium- 
sized  man  with  a  black  mask,  which,  however, 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.         91 

showed  half  of  a  smooth,  beardless  face,  and 
an  affable  yet  satirical  mouth.  The  speaker 
cleared  his  throat  with  the  slight  preparatory 
cough  of  the  practiced  orator,  and,  approach 
ing  the  window,  to  Key's  intense  surprise, 
actually  began  in  the  identical  professional 
and  rhetorical  style  previously  indicated  by 
the  miner. 

"  Circumstances  over  which  we  have  no 
control,  gentlemen,  compel  us  to  oblige  you 
to  alight,  stand  in  a  row  on  one  side,  and 
hold  up  your  hands.  You  will  find  the  atti 
tude  not  unpleasant  after  your  cramped  posi 
tion  in  the  coach,  while  the  change  from  its 
confined  air  to  the  wholesome  night-breeze 
of  the  Sierras  cannot  but  prove  salutary 
and  refreshing.  It  will  also  enable  us  to 
relieve  you  of  such  so-called  valuables  and 
treasures  in  the  way  of  gold  dust  and  coin, 
which  I  regret  to  say  too  often  are  misap 
plied  in  careless  hands,  and  which  the  teach 
ings  of  the  highest  morality  distinctly  denom 
inate  as  the  root  of  all  evil!  I  need  not 
inform  you,  gentlemen,  as  business  men,  that 
promptitude  and  celerity  of  compliance  will 
insure  dispatch,  and  shorten  an  interview 
which  has  been  sometimes  needlessly,  and, 
I  regret  to  say,  painfully  protracted." 


92        IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

He  drew  back  deliberately  with  the  same 
monotonous  precision  of  habit,  and  disclosed 
the  muzzles  of  his  confederates'  weapons 
still  leveled  at  the  passengers.  In  spite  of 
their  astonishment,  indignation,  and  discom 
fiture,  his  practiced  effrontery  and  deliberate 
display  appeared  in  some  way  to  touch  their 
humorous  sense,  and  one  or  two  smiled 
hysterically,  as  they  rose  and  hesitatingly 
filed  out  of  the  vehicle.  It  is  possible,  how 
ever,  that  the  leveled  shot-guns  contributed 
more  or  less  directly  to  this  result. 

Two  masks  began  to  search  the  passengers 
under  the  combined  focus  of  the  bull's-eyes, 
the  shining  gun-barrels,  and  a  running  but 
still  carefully  prepared  commentary  from  the 
spokesman.  "  It  is  to  be  regretted  that  busi 
ness  men,  instead  of  intrusting  their  property 
to  the  custody  of  the  regularly  constituted 
express  agent,  still  continue  to  secrete  it 
on  their  persons ;  a  custom  that,  without 
enhancing  its  security,  is  not  only  an  injus 
tice  to  the  express  company,  but  a  great 
detriment  to  dispatch.  We  also  wish  to 
point  out  that  while  we  do  not  as  a  rule 
interfere  with  the  possession  of  articles  of 
ordinary  personal  use  or  adornment,  such  as 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.        93 

simple  jewelry  or  watches,  we  reserve  our 
right  to  restrict  by  confiscation  the  vulgarity 
and  unmanliness  of  diamonds  and  enormous 
fob  chains." 

The  act  of  spoliation  was  apparently  com 
plete,  yet  it  was  evident  that  the  orator  was 
restraining  himself  for  a  more  effective  cli 
max.  Clearing  his  throat  again  and  step 
ping  before  the  impatient  but  still  mystified 
file  of  passengers,  he  reviewed  them  gravely. 
Then  in  a  perfectly  pitched  tone  of  mingled 
pain  and  apology,  he  said  slowly :  — 

"  It  would  seem  that,  from  no  wish  of  our 
own,  we  are  obliged  on  this  present  occasion 
to  suspend  one  or  two  of  our  usual  rules. 
We  are  not  in  the  habit  of  interfering  with 
the  wearing  apparel  of  our  esteemed  clients ; 
but  in  the  interests  of  ordinary  humanity  we 
are  obliged  to  remove  the  boots  of  the  gen 
tleman  on  the  extreme  left,  which  evidently 
give  him  great  pain  and  impede  his  locomo 
tion.  We  also  seldom  deviate  from  our  rule 
of  obliging  our  clients  to  hold  up  their  hands 
during  this  examination  ;  but  we  gladly  make 
an  exception  in  favor  of  the  gentleman  next 
to  him,  and  permit  him  to  hand  us  the  alto 
gether  too  heavily  weighted  holster  which 


94        IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

presses  upon  his  hip.  Gentlemen,"  said 
the  orator,  slightly  raising  his  voice,  with 
a  deprecating  gesture,  "you  need  not  be 
alarmed !  The  indignant  movement  of  our 
friend,  just  now,  was  not  to  draw  his  revolver, 
—  for  it  is  n't  there !  "  He  paused  while  his 
companions  speedily  removed  the  farmer's 
boots  and  the  miner's  holster,  and  with  a 
still  more  apologetic  air  approached  the 
coach,  where  only  the  lady  remained  erect 
and  rigid  in  her  corner.  "  And  now,"  he 
said  with  simulated  hesitation,  "  we  come  to 
the  last  and  to  us  the  most  painful  suspension 
of  our  rules.  On  these  very  rare  occasions, 
when  we  have  been  honored  with  the  pres 
ence  of  the  fair  sex,  it  has  been  our  invari 
able  custom  not  only  to  leave  them  in  the 
undisturbed  possession  of  their  property,  but 
even  of  their  privacy  as  well.  It  is  with 
deep  regret  that  on  this  occasion  we  are 
obliged  to  make  an  exception.  For  in  the 
present  instance,  the  lady,  out  of  the  gentle 
ness  of  her  heart  and  the  politeness  of  her 
sex,  has  burdened  herself  not  only  with  the 
weight  but  the  responsibility  of  a  package 
forced  upon  her  by  one  of  the  passengers. 
We  feel,  and  we  believe,  gentlemen,  that 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.        95 

most  of  you  will  agree  with  us,  that  so  scan 
dalous  and  unmanly  an  attempt  to  evade  our 
rules  and  violate  the  sanctity  of  the  lady's  im 
munity  will  never  be  permitted.  For  your 
own  sake,  madam,  we  are  compelled  to  ask 
you  for  the  satchel  under  your  seat.  It 
will  be  returned  to  you  when  the  package  is 
removed." 

"  One  moment,"  said  the  professional 
man  indignantly,  "there  is  a  man  here 
whom  you  have  spared,  —  a  man  who  lately 
joined  us.  Is  that  man,"  pointing  to  the 
astonished  Key,  "  one  of  your  confederates  ?  " 

"  That  man,"  returned  the  spokesman 
with  a  laugh,  "  is  the  owner  of  the  Sylvan 
Hollow  Mine.  We  have  spared  him  because 
we  owe  him  some  consideration  for  having 
been  turned  out  of  his  house  at  the  dead  of 
night  while  the  sheriff  of  Sierra  was  seek 
ing  us."  He  stopped,  and  then  in  an  entirely 
different  voice,  and  in  a  totally  changed 
manner,  said  roughly,  "  Tumble  in  there,  all 
of  you,  quick!  And  you,  sir"  (to  Key), 
—  "  I  'd  advise  you  to  ride  outside.  Now, 
driver,  raise  so  much  as  a  rein  or  a  whip 
lash  until  you  hear  the  signal  —  and  by  God  ! 
you  '11  know  what  next."  He  stepped  back, 


96         IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

and  seemed  to  be  instantly  swallowed  up 
in  the  darkness ;  but  the  light  of  a  solitary 
bull's-eye  —  the  holder  himself  invisible  — 
still  showed  the  muzzles  of  the  guns  covering 
the  driver.  There  was  a  momentary  stir  of 
voices  within  the  closed  coach,  but  an  angry 
roar  of  "  Silence !  "  from  the  darkness 
hushed  it. 

The  moments  crept  slowly  by ;  all  now 
were  breathless.  Then  a  clear  whistle  rang 
from  the  distance,  the  light  suddenly  was 
extinguished,  the  leveled  muzzles  vanished 
with  it,  the  driver's  lash  fell  simultaneously 
on  the  backs  of  his  horses,  and  the  coach 
leaped  forward. 

The  jolt  nearly  threw  Key  from  the  top, 
but  a  moment  later  it  was  still  more  difficult 
to  keep  his  seat  in  the  headlong  fury  of 
their  progress.  Again  and  again  the  lash 
descended  upon  the  maddened  horses,  until 
the  whole  coach  seemed  to  leap,  bound,  and 
swerve  with  every  stroke.  Cries  of  protest 
and  even  distress  began  to  come  from  the 
interior,  but  the  driver  heeded  it  not.  A 
window  was  suddenly  let  down ;  the  voice  of 
the  professional  man  saying,  "  What 's  the 
matter?  We're  not  followed.  You  are 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.        97 

imperiling   our   lives  by  this  speed,"    was 
answered  only  by,  "  Will  some  of  ye  throt 
tle  that  d — d  fool?"  from  the  driver,  and 
the  renewed  fall  of  the  lash.     The  wayside 
trees  appeared  a  solid  plateau  before  them, 
opened,  danced  at  their  side,  closed  up  again 
behind    them,  —  but  still  they  sped    along. 
Kushing  down  grades  with  the  speed  of  an 
avalanche,  they  ascended  again  without  draw 
ing  rein,   and   as   if    by  sheer  momentum; 
for  the  heavy  vehicle  now  seemed  to  have 
a  diabolical  energy  of  its  own.     It  ground 
scattered  rocks  to  powder  with  its  crushing 
wheels,  it  swayed  heavily  on  ticklish  corners, 
recovering  itself  with  the  resistless  forward 
propulsion  of  the  straining  teams,  until  the 
lights  of  Three  Pine  Station  began  to  glitter 
through    the    trees.     Then  a    succession  of 
yells  broke  from  the  driver,  so  strong  and 
dominant  that  they  seemed  to  outstrip  even 
the  speed  of  the   unabated  cattle.     Lesser 
lights  were  presently  seen  running  to  and 
fro,  and  on  the  outermost  fringe  of  the  settle 
ment  the  stage  pulled  up  before  a  crowd  of 
wondering  faces,  and  the  driver  spoke. 

"  We  've  been  held  up  on  the  open  road, 
by  G — d,  not    three    miles  from  whar  ye 


98        IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

men  are  sittin'  here  yawpin'  !     If  thar  's  a 
man  among  ye  that  has  n't   got  the  soul  of 
a  skunk,  he  '11  foller  and  close  in  upon  'em 
before  they  have  a  chance  to  get  into  the 
brush."     Having    thus  relieved   himself    of 
his  duty  as  an  enforced  noncombatant,  and 
allowed   all  further  responsibility  to  devolve 
upon   his  recreant  fellow  employees,  he  re 
lapsed  into  his  usual  taciturnity,  and  drove 
a  trifle  less  recklessly  to  the  station,  where 
he  grimly   set  down    his  bruised    and    dis 
comfited  passengers.     As  Key  mingled  with 
them,   he    could    not    help    perceiving   that 
neither  the  late  "  orator's  "   explanation  of 
his  exemption  from  their  fate,  nor  the  driv 
er's    surly   corroboration    of    his    respecta 
bility,  had  pacified   them.     For  a  time  this 
amused  him,  particularly  as    he    could  not 
help  remembering  that  he  first  appeared  to 
them  beside  the   mysterious  horseman  who 
some  one  thought  had  been  identified  as  one 
of  the  masks.     But  he  was  not  a  little  piqued 
to  find  that  the  fair  unknown  appeared  to 
participate  in    their   feelings,  and  his  first 
civility  to  her  met  with  a  chilling  response. 
Even  then,  in  the  general  disillusion  of  his 
romance   regarding    her,    this    would    have 


1^  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.        99 
been  only  a  momentary  annoyance;  but  it 
strangely  revived  all  his  previous  suspicions, 
and  set  Mm  to  thinking.     Was  the  singular 
sagacity  displayed  by  the  orator  in  his  search 
purely  intuitive?     Could  anyone  have  dis 
closed  to  him  the  secret  of  the  passengers' 
hoards?     Was  it  possible  for  her  while  sit 
ting  alone  in  the  coach  to  have  communicated 
with  the  band  ?     Suddenly  the  remembrance 
flashed  across  him  of  her  opening  the  window 
for  fresh  air !      She  could  have  easily  then 
dropped    some    signal.      If    this    were    so, 
and  she  really  was  the  culprit,  it  was  quite 
natural  for  her  own  safety  that  she  should 
encourage  the  passengers  in  the  absurd   sus 
picion  of  himself!      His  dying  interest  re 
vived;    a   few  moments    ago   he    had  half 
resolved  to  abandon  his  quest  and  turn  back 
at    Three   Pines.     Now    he    determined    to 
follow  her    to  the    end.     But  he    did    not 
indulge  in  any  further  sophistry  regarding 
his  duty ;    yet,  in  a  new  sense  of  honor,  he 
did  not   dream  of  retaliating  upon  her  by 
communicating  his  suspicions   to  his  fellow 
passengers.     When  the  coach  started  again, 
he  took  his   seat  on  the  top,  and  remained 
there  until  they  reached  Jamestown  in  the 


100      IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

early  evening.  Here  a  number  of  his  de 
spoiled  companions  were  obliged  to  wait,  to 
communicate  with  their  friends.  Happily, 
the  exemption  that  had  made  them  indignant 
enabled  him  to  continue  his  journey  with 
a  full  purse.  But  he  was  content  with  a 
modest  surveillance  of  the  lady  from  the  top 
of  the  coach. 

On  arriving  at  Stockton  this  surveillance 
became  less  easy.  It  was  the  terminus  of 
the  stage-route,  and  the  divergence  of  others 
by  boat  and  rail.  If  he  were  lucky  enough 
to  discover  which  one  the  lady  took,  his  pres 
ence  now  would  be  more  marked,  and  might 
excite  her  suspicion.  But  here  a  circum 
stance,  which  he  also  believed  to  be  provi 
dential,  determined  him.  As  the  luggage 
was  being  removed  from  the  top  of  the  coach, 
he  overheard  the  agent  tell  the  expressman 
to  check  the  "  lady's  "  trunk  to  San  Luis. 
Key  was  seized  with  an  idea  which  seemed  to 
solve  the  difficulty,  although  it  involved  a 
risk  of  losing  the  clue  entirely.  There  were 
two  routes  to  San  Luis,  one  was  by  stage,  and 
direct,  though  slower ;  the  other  by  steam 
boat  and  rail,  via  San  Francisco.  If  he 
took  the  boat,  there  was  less  danger  of  her 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

discovering  him,  even  if  she  chose  the  same 
conveyance  ;  if  she  took  the  direct  stage,  - 
and  he  trusted  to  a  woman's  avoidance  of  the 
hurry  of  change  and  transshipment  for  that 
choice,  —  he  would  still  arrive  at  San  Luis, 
via  San  Francisco,  an  hour  before  her.  He 
resolved  to  take  the  boat ;  a  careful  scrutiny 
from  a  stateroom  window  of  the  arriving 
passengers  on  the  gangplank  satisfied  him 
that  she  had  preferred  the  stage.  There 
was  still  the  chance  that  in  losing  sight  of 
her  she  might  escape  him,  but  the  risk 
seemed  small.  And  a  trifling  circumstance 
had  almost  unconsciously  influenced  him  — 
after  his  romantic  and  superstitious  fashion 
—  as  to  this  final  step. 

He  had  been  singularly  moved  when  he 
heard  that  San  Luis  was  the  lady's  probable 
destination.  It  did  not  seem  to  bear  any 
relation  to  the  mountain  wilderness  and  the 
wild  life  she  had  just  quitted;  it  was  ap 
parently  the  most  antipathic,  incongruous, 
and  inconsistent  refuge  she  could  have 
taken.  It  offered  110  opportunity  for  the 
disposal  of  booty,  or  for  communication  with 
the  gang.  It  was  less  secure  than  a  crowded 
town.  An  old  Spanish  mission  and  monas- 


102     !#'  A  HOLLOW  OF'  THE  HILLS. 

tery  college  in  a  sleepy  pastoral  plain,  —  it 
had  even  retained  its  old-world  flavor  amidst 
American  improvements  and  social  revolu 
tion.  He  knew  it  well.  From  the  quaint 
college  cloisters,  where  the  only  reposeful 
years  of  his  adventurous  youth  had  been 
spent,  to  the  long  Alameda,  or  double  ave 
nues  of  ancient  trees,  which  connected  it 
with  the  convent  of  Santa  Luisa,  and  some 
of  his  youthful  "  devotions,"  -  it  had  been 
the  nursery  of  his  romance.  He  was 
amused  at  what  seemed  to  be  the  irony  of 
fate,  in  now  linking  it  with  this  folly  of  his 
maturer  manhood  ;  and  yet  he  was  uneasily 
conscious  of  being  more  seriously  affected 
by  it.  And  it  was  with  a  greater  anxiety 
than  this  adventure  had  ever  yet  cost  him 
that  he  at  last  arrived  at  the  San  Jose  hotel, 
and  from  a  balcony  corner  awaited  the  com 
ing  of  the  coach.  His  heart  beat  rapidly 
as  it  approached.  She  was  there  !  But  at 
her  side,  as  she  descended  from  the  coach, 
was  the  mysterious  horseman  of  the  Sierra 
road.  Key  could  not  mistake  the  well-built 
figure,  whatever  doubt  there  had  been  about 
the  features,  which  had  been  so  carefully 
concealed.  With  the  astonishment  of  this 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.      103 

rediscovery,  there  flashed  across  him  again 
the  fatefulness  of  the  inspiration  which  had 
decided  him  not  to  go  in  the  coach.  His 
presence  there  would  have  no  doubt  warned 
the  stranger,  and  so  estopped  this  convincing 
denouement.  It  was  quite  possible  that  her 
companion,  by  relays  of  horses  and  the  ad 
vantage  of  bridle  cut-offs,  could  have  easily 
followed  the  Three  Pine  coach  and  joined 
her  at  Stockton.  But  for  what  purpose  ? 
The  lady's  trunk,  which  had  not  been  dis 
turbed  during  the  first  part  of  the  journey, 
and  had  been  forwarded  at  Stockton  un 
touched  before  Key's  eyes,  could  not  have 
contained  booty  to  be  disposed  of  in  this 
forgotten  old  town. 

The  register  of  the  hotel  bore  simply  the 
name  of  "Mrs.  Barker,"  of  Stockton,  but 
110  record  of  her  companion,  who  seemed  to 
have  disappeared  as  mysteriously  as  he  came. 
That  she  occupied  a  sitting-room  on  the  same 
floor  as  his  own  —  in  which  she  was  ap 
parently  secluded  during  the  rest  of  the  day 
—  was  all  he  knew.  Nobody  else  seemed 
to  know  her.  Key  felt  an  odd  hesitation, 
that  might  have  been  the  result  of  some 
vague  fear  of  implicating  her  prematurely, 


104      IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

in  making  any  marked  inquiry,  or  imper 
iling  his  secret  by  the  bribed  espionage 
of  servants.  Once  when  he  was  passing 
her  door  he  heard  the  sounds  of  laughter, 
—  albeit  innocent  and  heart-free,  —  which 
seemed  so  inconsistent  with  the  gravity  of 
the  situation  and  his  own  thoughts  that  he 
was  strangely  shocked.  But  he  was  still 
more  disturbed  by  a  later  occurrence.  In 
his  watchfulness  of  the  movements  of  his 
neighbor  he  had  been  equally  careful  of  his 
own,  and  had  not  only  refrained  from  regis 
tering  his  name,  but  had  enjoined  secrecy 
upon  the  landlord,  whom  he  knew.  Yet  the 
next  morning  after  his  arrival,  the  porter 
not  answering  his  bell  promptly  enough,  he 
so  far  forgot  himself  as  to  walk  to  the  stair 
case,  which  was  near  the  lady's  room,  and 
call  to  the  employee  over  the  balustrade.  As 
he  was  still  leaning  over  the  railing,  the 
faint  creak  of  a  door,  and  a  singular  mag 
netic  consciousness  of  being  overlooked, 
caused  him  to  turn  slowly,  but  only  in  time 
to  hear  the  rustle  of  a  withdrawing  skirt  as 
the  door  was  quickly  closed.  In  an  instant 
he  felt  the  full  force  of  his  foolish  heedless- 
ness,  but  it  was  too  late.  Had  the  mys- 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.      105 

terious  fugitive  recognized  him  ?  Perhaps 
not ;  their  eyes  had  not  met,  and  his  face 
had  been  turned  away. 

He  varied  his  espionage  by  subterfuges, 
which  his  knowledge  of  the  old  town  made 
easy.  He  watched  the  door  of  the  hotel, 
himself  unseen,  from  the  windows  of  a  bil 
liard  saloon  opposite,  which  he  had  fre 
quented  in  former  days»  Yet  he  was  sur 
prised  the  same  afternoon  to  see  her,  from 
his  coigne  of  vantage,  reentering  the  hotel, 
where  he  was  sure  he  had  left  her  a  few  mo 
ments  ago.  Had  she  gone  out  by  some  other 
exit,  —  or  had  she  been  disguised  ?  But  on 
entering  his  room  that  evening  he  was  con 
founded  by  an  incident  that  seemed  to  him 
as  convincing  of  her  identity  as  it  was  auda 
cious.  Lying  on  his  pillow  were  a  few  dead 
leaves  of  an  odorous  mountain  fern,  known 
only  to  the  Sierras.  They  were  tied  to 
gether  by  a  narrow  blue  ribbon,  and  had  evi 
dently  been  intended  to  attract  his  attention. 
As  he  took  them  in  his  hand,  the  distin 
guishing  subtle  aroma  of  the  little  sylvan 
hollow  in  the  hills  came  to  him  like  a  mem 
ory  and  a  revelation  !  He  summoned  the 
chambermaid  ;  she  knew  nothing  of  them, 


106      IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

or  indeed  of  any  one  who  had  entered  his 
room.  He  walked  cautiously  into  the  hall ; 
the  lady's  sitting-room  door  was  open,  the 
room  was  empty.  "  The  occupant,"  said  the 
chambermaid,  "  had  left  that  afternoon." 
He  held  the  proof  of  her  identity  in  his 
hand,  but  she  herself  had  vanished  !  That 
she  had  recognized  him  there  was  now  no 
doubt :  had  she  divined  the  real  object  of 
his  quest,  or  had*  she  accepted  it  as  a  mere 
sentimental  gallantry  at  the  moment  when 
she  knew  it  was  hopeless,  and  she  herself 
was  perfectly  safe  from  pursuit?  In  either 
event  he  had  been  duped.  He  did  not  know 
whether  to  be  piqued,  angry,  —  or  relieved  of 
his  irresolute  quest.  v.' 

Nevertheless,  he  spent  the  rest  of  the  twi 
light  and  the  early  evening  in  fruitlessly 
wandering  through  the  one  long  thorough 
fare  of  the  town,  until  it  merged  into  the 
bosky  Alameda,  or  spacious  grove,  that  con 
nected  it  with  Santa  Luisa.  By  degrees  his 
chagrin  and  disappointment  were  forgotten 
in  the  memories  of  the  past,  evoked  by  the 
familiar  pathway.  The  moon  was  slowly 
riding  overhead,  and  silvering  the  carriage 
way  between  the  straight  ebony  lines  of 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.      107 

trees,  while  the  footpaths  were  diapered  with 
black  and  white  checkers.  The  faint  tink 
ling  of  a  tram-car  bell  in  the  distance  ap 
prised  him  of  one  of  the  few  innovations  of 
the  past.  The  car  was  approaching  him, 
overtook  him,  and  was  passing,  with  its 
faintly  illuminated  windows,  when,  glancing 
carelessly  np,  he  beheld  at  one  of  them  the 
profile  of  the  face  which  he  had  just  thought 
he  had  lost  forever  ! 

He  stopped  for  an  instant,  not  in  inde 
cision  this  time,  but  in  a  grim  resolution 
to  let  no  chance  escape  him  now.  The  car 
was  going  slowly ;  it  was  easy  to  board  it 
now,  but  again  the  tinkle  of  the  bell  indi 
cated  that  it  was  stopping  at  the  comer  of 
a  road  beyond.  He  checked  his  pace,  —  a 
lady  alighted,  —  it  was  she !  She  turned 
into  the  cross  -  street,  darkened  with  the 
shadows  of  some  low  suburban  tenement 
houses,  and  he  boldly  followed.  He  was 
fully  determined  to  find  out  her  secret,  and 
even,  if  necessary,  to  accost  her  for  that  pur 
pose.  He  was  perfectly  aware  what  he  was 
doing,  and  all  its  risks  and  penalties;  he 
knew  the  audacity  of  such  an  introduction, 
but  he  felt  in  his  left-hand  pocket  for  the 


108      IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

sprig  of  fern  which  was  an  excuse  for  it; 
he  knew  the  danger  of  following  a  possible 
confidante  of  desperadoes,  but  he  felt  in  his 
right-hand  pocket  for  the  derringer  that  was 
equal  to  it.  They  were  both  there  ;  he  was 
ready. 

He  was  nearing  the  convent  and  the  old 
est  and  most  ruinous  part  of  the  town.  He 
did  not  disguise  from  himself  the  gloomy 
significance  of  this  ;  even  in  the  old  days  the 
crumbling  adobe  buildings  that  abutted  on 
the  old  garden  wall  of  the  convent  were  the 
haunts  of  lawless  Mexicans  and  vagabond 
peons.  As  the  roadway  began  to  be  rough 
and  uneven,  and  the  gaunt  outlines  of  the 
sagging  roofs  of  tiles  stood  out  against  the 
sky  above  the  lurking  shadows  of  ruined 
doorways,  he  was  prepared  for  the  worst. 
As  the  crumbling  but  still  massive  walls  of 
the  convent  garden  loomed  ahead,  the  tall, 
graceful,  black -gowned  figure  he  was  fol 
lowing  presently  turned  into  the  shadow 
of  the  wall  itself.  He  quickened  his  pace, 
lest  it  should  again  escape  him.  Sud 
denly  it  stopped,  and  remained  motionless. 
He  stopped,  too.  At  the  same  moment 
it  vanished  I 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.      109 

He  ran  quickly  forward  to  where  it  had 
stood,  and  found  himself  before  a  large  iron 
gate,  with  a  smaller  one  in  the  centre,  that 
had  just  clanged  to  on  its  rusty  hinges.  He 
rubbed  his  eyes  !  —  the  place,  the  gate,  the 
wall,  were  all  strangely  familiar  !  Then  he 
stepped  back  into  the  roadway,  and  looked 
at  it  again.  He  was  not  mistaken. 

He  was  standing  before  the  porter's  lodge 
of  the  Convent  of  the  Sacred  Heart. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  day  following  the  great  stagecoach 
robbery  found  the  patient  proprietor  of 
Collinson's  Mill  calm  and  untroubled  in  his 
usual  seclusion.  The  news  that  had  thrilled 
the  length  and  breadth  of  Galloper's  Ridge 
had  not  touched  the  leafy  banks  of  the 
dried-up  river ;  the  hue  and  cry  had  fol 
lowed  the  stage-road,  and  no  courier  had 
deemed  it  worth  his  while  to  diverge  as  far 
as  the  rocky  ridge  which  formed  the  only 
pathway  to  the  mill.  That  day  Collinson's 
solitude  had  been  unbroken  even  by  the 
haggard  emigrant  from  the  valley,  with  his 
old  monotonous  story  of  hardship  and  pri 
vation.  The  birds  had  flown  nearer  to  the 
old  mill,  as  if  emboldened  by  the  unwonted 
quiet.  That  morning  there  had  been  the 
half  human  imprint  of  a  bear's  foot  in  the 
ooze  beside  the  mill  -  wheel ;  and  coming 
home  with  his  scant  stock  from  the  wood 
land  pasture,  he  had  found  a  golden  squirrel 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.      Ill 

—  a  beautiful,  airy  embodiment  of  the 
brown  woods  itself  —  calmly  seated  on  his 
bar-counter,  with  a  biscuit  between  its  baby 
hands.  He  was  full  of  his  characteristic 
reveries  and  abstractions  that  afternoon ; 
falling  into  them  even  at  his  wood -pile, 
leaning  on  his  axe  —  so  still  that  an  emer 
ald-throated  lizard,  who  had  slid  upon  the 
log,  went  to  sleep  under  the  forgotten  stroke. 

But  at  nightfall  the  wind  arose,  —  at  first 
as  a  distant  murmur  along  the  hillside,  that 
died  away  before  it  reached  the  rocky  ledge  ; 
then  it  rocked  the  tops  of  the  tall  redwoods 
behind  the  mill,  but  left  the  mill  and  the 
dried  leaves  that  lay  in  the  river-bed  undis 
turbed.  Then  the  murmur  was  prolonged, 
until  it  became  the  continuous  trouble  of 
some  far-off  sea,  and  at  last  the  wind  pos 
sessed  the  ledge  itself;  driving  the  smoke 
down  the  stumpy  chimney  of  the  mill,  rat 
tling  the  sun-warped  shingles  on  the  roof, 
stirring  the  inside  rafters  with  cool  breaths, 
and  singing  over  the  rough  projections  of 
the  outside  eaves.  At  nine  o'clock  he  rolled 
himself  up  in  his  blankets  before  the  fire, 
as  was  his  wont,  and  fell  asleep. 

It  was  past  midnight  when  he  was  awak- 


112      .LV  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

ened  by  the  familiar  clatter  of  boulders 
down  the  grade,  the  usual  simulation  of  a 
wild  rush  from  without  that  encompassed 
the  whole  mill,  even  to  that  heavy  impact 
against  the  door,  which  he  had  heard  once 
before.  In  this  he  recognized  merely  the 
ordinary  phenomena  of  his  experience,  and 
only  turned  over  to  sleep  again.  But  this 
time  the  door  rudely  fell  in  upon  him,  and  a 
figure  strode  over  his  prostrate  body,  with  a 
gun  leveled  at  his  head. 

He  sprang  sideways  for  his  own  weapon, 
which  stood  by  the  hearth.  In  another 
second  that  action  would  have  been  his  last, 
and  the  solitude  of  Seth  Collinson  might 
have  remained  henceforward  unbroken  by 
any  mortal.  But  the  gun  of  the  first  figure 
was  knocked  sharply  upward  by  a  second 
man,  and  the  one  and  only  shot  fired  that 
night  sped  harmlessly  to  the  roof.  With 
the  report  he  felt  his  arms  gripped  tightly 
behind  him ;  through  the  smoke  he  saw 
dimly  that  the  room  was  filled  with  masked 
and  armed  men,  and  in  another  moment  he 
was  pinioned  and  thrust  into  his  empty 
armchair.  At  a  signal  three  of  the  men 
left  the  room,  and  he  could  hear  them 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.      113 

exploring  the  other  rooms  and  outhouses. 
Then  the  two  men  who  had  been  standing 
beside  him  fell  back  with  a  certain  disci 
plined  precision,  as  a  smooth-chinned  man 
advanced  from  the  open  door.  Going  to 
the  bar,  he  poured  out  a  glass  of  whiskey, 
tossed  it  off  deliberately,  and,  standing  in 
front  of  Collinson,  with  his  shoulder  against 
the  chimney  and  his  hand  resting  lightly  on 
his  hip,  cleared  his  throat.  Had  Collinson 
been  an  observant  man,  he  would  have  no 
ticed  that  the  two  men  dropped  their  eyes 
and  moved  their  feet  with  a  half  impatient, 
perfunctory  air  of  waiting.  Had  he  wit 
nessed  the  stage-robbery,  he  would  have  rec 
ognized  in  the  smooth-faced  man  the  presence 
of  "  the  orator."  But  he  only  gazed  at  him 
with  his  dull,  imperturbable  patience. 

"  We  regret  exceedingly  to  have  to  use 
force  to  a  gentleman  in  his  own  house," 
began  the  orator  blandly  ;  "  but  we  feel  it 
our  duty  to  prevent  a  repetition  of  the  un 
happy  incident  which  occurred  as  we  en 
tered.  We  desire  that  you  should  answer 
a  few  questions,  and  are  deeply  grateful 
that  you  are  still  able  to  do  so,  —  which 
seemed  extremely  improbable  a  moment  or 


114      IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

two  ago."  He  paused,  coughed,  and  leaned 
back  against  the  chimney.  "  How  many 
men  have  you  here  besides  yourself?  " 

"  Nary  one,"  said  Collinson. 

The  interrogator  glanced  at  the  other 
men,  who  had  reentered.  They  nodded 
significantly. 

"  Good !  "  he  resumed.  "  You  have  told 
the  truth  —  an  excellent  habit,  and  one  that 
expedites  business.  Now,  is  there  a  room 
in  this  house  with  a  door  that  locks  ?  Your 
front  door  does  n't." 

"  No." 

"  No  cellar  nor  outhouse  ?  " 

"No." 

"  We  regret  that ;  for  it  will  compel  us, 
much  against  our  wishes,  to  keep  you  bound 
as  you  are  for  the  present.  The  matter  is 
simply  this:  circumstances  of  a  very  press 
ing  nature  oblige  us  to  occupy  this  house 
for  a  few  days, —  possibly  for  an  .indefinite 
period.  We  respect  the  sacred  rites  of 
hospitality  too  much  to  turn  you  out  of  it ; 
indeed,  nothing  could  be  more  distasteful  to 
our  feelings  than  to  have  you,  in  your  own 
person,  spread  such  a  disgraceful  report 
through  the  chivalrous  Sierras.  We  must 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.      115 

therefore  keep  you  a  close  prisoner,  —  open, 
however,  to  an.  offer.  It  is  this :  we  pro 
pose  to  give  you  five  hundred  dollars  for 
this  property  as  it  stands,  provided  that  you 
leave  it,  and  accompany  a  pack-train  which 
will  start  to-morrow  morning  for  the  lower 
valley  as  far  as  Thompson's  Pass,  binding 
yourself  to  quit  the  State  for  three  months 
and  keep  this  matter  a  secret.  Three  of 
these  gentlemen  will  go  with  you.  They 
will  point  out  to  you  your  duty ;  their  shot 
guns  will  apprise  you  of  any  dereliction 
from  it.  What  do  you  say  ?  " 

"  Who  yer  talking  to  ?  "  said  Collinson 
in  a  dull  voice. 

"  You  remind  us,"  said  the  orator  suavely, 
"that  we  have  not  yet  the  pleasure  of  know 
ing." 

"  My  name  's  Seth  Collinson." 

There  was  a  dead  silence  in  the  room,  and 
every  eye  was  fixed  upon  the  two  men. 
The  orator's  smile  slightly  stiffened. 

"  Where  from  ?  "  he  continued  blandly. 

"  Mizzouri." 

"  A  very  good  place    to  go  back  to,  — 
through  Thompson's  Pass.   But  you  have  n't 
answered  our  proposal." 


116      72V  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

"  I  reckon  I  don't  intend  to  sell  this 
house,  or  leave  it,"  said  Collinson  simply. 

"  I  trust  you  will  not  make  us  regret  the 
fortunate  termination  of  your  little  accident, 
Mr.  Collinson,"  said  the  orator  with  a  sin 
gular  smile.  "  May  I  ask  why  you  object 
to  selling  out  ?  Is  it  the  figure  ?  " 

"The  house  isn't  mine,"  said  Collinson 
deliberately.  "  I  built  this  yer  house  for 
my  wife  wot  I  left  in  Mizzouri.  It 's  hers. 
I  kalkilate  to  keep  it,  and  live  in  it  ontil  she 
comes  fur  it !  And  when  I  tell  ye  that  she 
is  dead,  ye  kin  reckon  just  what  chance  ye 
have  of  ever  gettin'  it." 

There  was  an  unmistakable  start  of  sen 
sation  in  the  room,  followed  by  a  silence  so 
profound  that  the  moaning  of  the  wind  on 
the  mountain-side  was  distinctly  heard.  A 
well-built  man,  with  a  mask  that  scarcely 
concealed  his  heavy  mustachios,  who  had 
been  standing  with  his  back  to  the  orator 
in  half  contemptuous  patience,  faced  around 
suddenly  and  made  a  step  forward  as  if  to 
come  between  the  questioner  and  questioned. 
A  voice  from  the  corner  ejaculated,  "  By 
G— d!" 

"  Silence,"  said  the  orator  sharply.    Then 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.      117 

still  more  harshly  he  turned  to  the  others : 
"  Pick  him  up,  and  stand  him  outside  with 
a  guard ;  and  then  clear  out,  all  of  you  !  " 

The  prisoner  was  lifted  up  and  carried 
out ;  the  room  was  instantly  cleared ;  only 
the  orator  and  the  man  who  had  stepped 
forward  remained.  Simultaneously  they 
drew  the  masks  from  their  faces,  and  stood 
looking  at  each  other.  The  orator's  face 
was  smooth  and  corrupt;  the  full,  sensual 
lips  wrinkled  at  the  corners  with  a  sardonic 
humor;  the  man  who  confronted  him  ap 
peared  to  be  physically  and  even  morally 
his  superior,  albeit  gloomy  and  discon 
tented  in  expression.  He  cast  a  rapid 
glance  around  the  room,  to  assure  himself 
that  they  were  alone ;  and  then,  straighten 
ing  his  eyebrows  as  he  backed  against  the 
chimney,  said :  — 

"D— d  if  I  like  this,  Chivers !  It's 
your  affair ;  but  it 's  mighty  low-down  work 
for  a  man  !  " 

"You  might  have  made  it  easier  if  you 
hadn't  knocked  up  Bryce's  gun.  That 
would  have  settled  it,  though  no  one  guessed 
that  the  cur  was  her  husband,"  said  Chivers 
hotly. 


118      IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

"  If  you  want  it  settled  that  way,  there  's 
still  time,"  returned  the  other  with  a  slight 
sneer.  "You've  only  to  tell  him  that 
you  're  the  man  that  ran  away  with  his  wife, 
and  you  '11  have  it  out  together,  right  on 
the  ledge  at  twelve  paces.  The  boys  will 
see  you  through.  In  fact,"  he  added,  his 
sneer  deepening,  "  I  rather  think  it 's  what 
they  're  expecting." 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Jack  Eiggs,"  said 
Chivers  sardonically.  "  I  dare  say  it  would 
be  more  convenient  to  some  people,  just 
before  our  booty  is  divided,  if  I  were  drilled 
through  by  a  blundering  shot  from  that 
hayseed ;  or  it  would  seem  right  to  your 
high-toned  chivalry  if  a  dead-shot  as  I  am 
knocked  over  a  man  who  may  have  never 
fired  a  revolver  before  ;  but  I  don't  exactly 
see  it  in  that  light,  either  as  a  man  or  as 
your  equal  partner.  I  don't  think  you 
quite  understand  me,  my  dear  Jack.  If 
you  don't  value  the  only  man  who  is  iden 
tified  in  all  California  as  the  leader  of  this 
gang  (the  man  whose  style  and  address 
has  made  it  popular  —  yes,  popular,  by 
Gr — d !  — -  to  every  man,  woman,  and  child 
who  has  heard  of  him  ;  whose  sayings  and 


I,V  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.      119 

doings  are  quoted  by  the  newspapers  ;  whom 
people  run  risks  to  see ;  who  has  got  the 
sympathy  of  the  crowd,  so  that  judges  hes 
itate  to  issue  warrants  and  constables  to 
serve  them) ,  —  if  you  don't  see  the  use  of 
such  a  man,  /do.  Why,  there  's  a  column 
and  a  half  in  the  '  Sacramento  Union  '  about 
our  last  job,  calling  me  the  4  Claude  Duval ' 
of  the  Sierras,  and  speaking  of  my  courtesy 
to  a  lady !  A  lady  !  —  Ms  wife,  by  G — d ! 
our  confederate  !  My  dear  Jack,  you  not 
only  don't  know  business  values,  but,  'poii 
my  soul,  you  don't  seem  to  understand  hu 
mor!  Ha,  ha!" 

For  all  his  cynical  levity,  for  all  his  af 
fected  exaggeration,  there  was  the  ring  of 
an  unmistakable  and  even  pitiable  vanity  in 
his  voice,  and  a  self-consciousness  that  suf 
fused  his  broad  cheeks  and  writhed  his  full 
mouth,  but  seemed  to  deepen  the  frown  on 
Riggs's  face. 

"  You  know  the  woman  hates  it,  and 
would  bolt  if  she  could,  —  even  from  you," 
said  Riggs  gloomily.  "  Think  what  she 
might  do  if  she  knew  her  husband  were 
here.  I  tell  you  she  holds  our  lives  in  the 
hollow  of  her  hand." 


120      IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

"That's  your  fault,  Mr.  Jack  Riggs ; 
you  would  bring  your  sister  with  her  infer 
nal  convent  innocence  and  simplicity  into 
our  hut  in  the  hollow.  She  was  meek 
enough  before  that.  But  this  is  sheer  non 
sense.  I  have  no  fear  of  her.  The  woman 
don't  live  who  would  go  back  on  Godfrey 
Chivers  —  for  a  husband !  Besides,  she  went 
off  to  see  your  sister  at  the  convent  at  Santa 
Clara  as  soon  as  she  passed  those  bonds 
off  on  Charley  to  get  rid  of!  Think  of 
her  traveling  with  that  d — d  fool  lawyer  all 
the  way  to  Stockton,  and  his  bonds  (which 
we  had  put  back  in  her  bag)  alongside  of 
them  all  the  time,  and  he  telling  her  he  was 
going  to  stop  their  payment,  and  giving  her 
the  letter  to  mail  for  him  !  —  eh  ?  Well, 
we  '11  have  time  to  get  rid  of  her  husband 
before  she  gets  back.  If  he  don't  go  easy 
-  well "  - 

"  None  of  that,  Chivers,  you  understand, 
once  for  all !  "  interrupted  Riggs  perempto 
rily.  "  If  you  cannot  see  that  your  making 
away  with  that  woman's  husband  would 
damn  that  boasted  reputation  you  make  so 
much  of  and  set  every  man's  hand  against 
us,  I  do,  and  I  won't  permit  it.  It 's  a 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.       121 

rotten  business  enough,  —  our  coming  on 
him  as  we  have  ;  and  if  this  was  n't  the  only 
God-forsaken  place  where  we  could  divide 
our  stuff  without  danger  and  get  it  away  off 
the  highroads,  I  'd  pull  up  stakes  at  once." 

uLet  her  stay  at  the  convent,  then,  and 
be  d — d  to  her,"  said  Chivers  roughly. 
"  She  '11  be  glad  enough  to  be  with  your 
sister  again ;  and  there  's  no  fear  of  her 
being  touched  there." 

"  But  I  want  to  put  an  end  to  that,  too," 
returned  Biggs  sharply.  "  I  do  not  choose 
to  have  my  sister  any  longer  implicated 
with  our  confederate  or  your  mistress.  No 
more  of  that  —  you  understand  me  ?  " 

The  two  men  had  been  standing  side  by 
side,  leaning  against  the  chimney.  Chivers 
now  faced  his  companion,  his  full  lips 
wreathed  into  an  evil  smile. 

"  I  think  I  understand  you,  Mr.  Jack 
Riggs,  or  —  I  beg  your  pardon  —  Rivers, 
or  whatever  your  real  name  may  be,"  he 
began  slowly.  "  Sadie  Collinsoii,  the  mis 
tress  of  Judge  Godfrey  Chivers,  formerly  of 
Kentucky,  was  good  enough  company  for 
you  the  day  you  dropped  down  upon  us  in 
our  little  house  in  the  hollow  of  Galloper's 


122      IN  A  HOLLOW  OF   THE  HILLS. 

Ridge.  We  were  living  quite  an  idyllic, 
pastoral  life  there,  weren't  we?  —  she  and 
me ;  hidden  from  the  censorious  eye  of 
society  and  —  Collinson,  obeying  only  the 
voice  of  Nature  and  the  little  birds.  It  was 
a  happy  time,"  he  went  on  with  a  grimly 
affected  sigh,  disregarding  his  companion's 
impatient  gesture.  "  You  were  young  then, 
waging  your  fight  against  society,  and  fresh 
-  uncommonly  fresh,  I  may  say  —  from 
your  first  exploit.  And  a  very  stupid, 
clumsy,  awkward  exploit,  too,  Mr.  Riggs,  if 
you  will  pardon  my  freedom.  You  wanted 
money,  and  you  had  an  ugly  temper,  and 
you  had  lost  both  to  a  gambler;  so  you 
stopped  the  coach  to  rob  him,  and  had  to 
kill  two  men  to  get  back  your  paltry  thou 
sand  dollars,  after  frightening  a  whole 
coach-load  of  passengers,  and  letting  Wells, 
Fargo,  and  Co.'s  treasure-box  with  fifty 
thousand  dollars  in  it  slide.  It  was  a  stupid, 
a  blundering,  a  cruel  act,  Mr.  Riggs,  and 
I  think  I  told  you  so  at  the  time.  It  was 
a  waste  of  energy  and  material,  and  made 
you,  not  a  hero,  but  a  stupid  outcast !  I 
think  I  proved  this  to  you,  and  showed  you 
how  it  might  have  been  done." 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.      123 

"  Dry  up  on  that,"  interrupted  Riggs 
impatiently.  "  You  offered  to  become  my 
partner,  and  you  did." 

"  Pardon  me.  Observe,  my  impetuous 
friend,  that  my  contention  is  that  you  — 
yOU  —  poisoned  our  blameless  Eden  in  the 
hollow ;  that  you  were  our  serpent,  and  that 
this  Sadie  Collinson,  over  whom  you  have 
become  so  fastidious,  whom  you  knew  as  my 
mistress,  was  obliged  to  become  our  confed 
erate.  You  did  not  object  to  her  when  we 
formed  our  gang,  and  her  house  became 
our  hiding-place  and  refuge.  You  took 
advantage  of  her  woman's  wit  and  fine  ad 
dress  in  disposing  of  our  booty ;  you  availed 
yourself,  with  the  rest,  of  the  secrets  she 
gathered  as  my  mistress,  just  as  you  were 
willing  to  profit  by  the  superior  address  of 
her  paramour  —  your  humble  servant  — 
when  your  own  face  was  known  to  the  sher 
iff,  and  your  old  methods  pronounced  brutal 
and  vulgar.  Excuse  me,  but  I  must  insist 
upon  this,  and  that  you  dropped  down  upon 
me  and  Sadie  Collinson  exactly  as  you  have 
dropped  down  here  upon  her  husband." 

"  Enough  of  this  !  "    said  Riggs  angrily. 
"  I  admit  the  woman  is  part  and  parcel  of 


124      IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

the  gang,  and  gets  her  share,  —  or  you  get 
it  for  her,"  he  added  sneeringly ;  "  but  that 
does  n't  permit  her  to  mix  herself  with  my 
family  affairs." 

"  Pardon  me  again,"  interrupted  Chivers 
softly.  "  Your  memory,  my  dear  Riggs,  is 
absurdly  defective.  We  knew  that  you  had 
a  young  sister  in  the  mountains,  from  whom 
you  discreetly  wished  to  conceal  your  real 
position.  We  respected,  and  I  trust  shall 
always  respect,  your  noble  reticence.  But 
do  you  remember  the  night  you  were  taking 
her  to  school  at  Santa  Clara,  —  two  nights 
before  the  fire,  —  when  you  were  recognized 
on  the  road  near  Skinner's,  and  had  to  fly 
with  her  for  your  life,  and  brought  her  to 
us,  —  your  two  dear  old  friends,  c  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Barker  of  Chicago,'  who  had  a  pas 
toral  home  in  the  forest  ?  You  remember 
how  we  took  her  in,  —  yes,  doubly  took  her 
in,  —  and  kept  your  secret  from  her  ?  And 
do  you  remember  how  this  woman  (this 
mistress  of  mine  and  our  confederate),  while 
we  were  away,  saved  her  from  the  fire  on 
our  only  horse,  caught  the  stage-coach,  and 
brought  her  to  the  convent?  " 

Eiggs  walked  towards  the  window,  turned, 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.      125 

and  coming  back,  held  out  his  hand.  "  Yes, 
she  did  it ;  and  I  thanked  her,  as  I  thank 
you."  He  stopped  and  hesitated,  as  the 
other  took  his  hand.  "  But,  blank  it  all, 
Chivers,  don't  you  see  that  Alice  is  a  young 
girl,  and  this  woman  is  —  you  know  what 
I  mean.  Somebody  might  recognize  her, 
and  that  would  be  worse  for  Alice  than  even 
if  it  were  known  what  Alice's  brother  was. 
G — d!  if  these  two  things  were  put  to 
gether,  the  girl  would  be  ruined  forever." 

"Jack,"  said  Chivers  suddenly,  "  you  want 
this  woman  out  of  the  way.  Well  —  dash 
it  all !  —  she  nearly  separated  us,  and  I  '11 
be  frank  with  you  as  between  man  and 
man.  I  '11  give  her  up  !  There  are  women 
enough  in  the  world,  and  hang  it,  we're 
partners,  after  all !  " 

"Then  you  abandon  her?"  said  Riggs 
slowly,  his  eyes  fixed  on  his  companion. 

"  Yes.  She  's  getting  a  little  too  maun 
dering  lately.  It  will  be  a  ticklish  job  to 
manage,  for  she  knows  too  much ;  but  it  will 
be  done.  There  's  my  hand  on  it." 

Riggs  not  only  took  no  notice  of  the  prof 
fered  hand,  but  his  former  look  of  discon 
tent  came  back  with  an  ill-concealed  addi 
tion  of  loathing  and  contempt. 


126      IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

"  We  '11  drop  that  now,"  lie  said  shortly  ; 
"  we  've  talked  here  alone  long  enough 
already.  The  men  are  waiting  for  us."  He 
turned  on  his  heel  into  the  inner  room. 
Chivers  remained  standing  by  the  chimney 
until  his  stiffened  smile  gave  way  under  the 
working  of  his  writhing  lips ;  then  he 
turned  to  the  bar,  poured  out  and  swallowed 
another  glass  of  whiskey  at  a  single  gulp, 
and  followed  his  partner  with  half-closed 
lids  that  scarcely  veiled  his  ominous  eyes. 

The  men,  with  the  exception  of  the  senti 
nels  stationed  on  the  rocky  ledge  and  the 
one  who  was  guarding  the  unfortunate  Col- 
linson,  were  drinking  and  gambling  away 
their  perspective  gains  around  a  small  pile 
of  portmanteaus  and  saddle-bags,  heaped  in 
the  centre  of  the  room.  They  contained  the 
results  of  their  last  successes,  but  one  pair 
of  saddle-bags  bore  the  mildewed  appearance 
of  having  been  cached,  or  buried,  some  time 
before.  Most  of  their  treasure  was  in  pack 
ages  of  gold  dust ;  and  from  the  conversation 
that  ensued,  it  appeared  that,  owing  to  the 
difficulties  of  disposing  of  it  in  the  moun 
tain  towns,  the  plan  was  to  convey  it  by 
ordinary  pack  mule  to  the  unfrequented 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.      127 

valley,  and  thence  by  an  emigrant  wagon,  on 
the  old  emigrant  trail,  to  the  southern  coun 
ties,  where  it  could  be  no  longer  traced. 
Since  the  recent  robberies,  the  local  express 
companies  and  bankers  had  refused  to  receive 
it,  except  the  owners  were  known  and  identi 
fied.  There  had  been  but  one  box  of  coin, 
which  had  already  been  speedily  divided  up 
among  the  band.  Drafts,  bills,  bonds,  and 
valuable  papers  had  been  usually  intrusted 
to  one  "  Charley,"  who  acted  as  a  flying 
messenger  to  a  corrupt  broker  in  Sacramento, 
who  played  the  role  of  the  band's  "  fence." 
It  had  been  the  duty  of  Chivers  to  control 
this  delicate  business,  even  as  it  had  been  his 
peculiar  function  to  open  all  the  letters  and 
documents.  This  he  had  always  lightened 
by  characteristic  levity  and  sarcastic  com 
ments  on  the  private  revelations  of  the  con 
tents.  The  rough,  ill-spelt  letter  of  the 
miner  to  his  wife,  inclosing  a  draft,  or  the 
more  sentimental  effusion  of  an  emigrant 
swain  to  his  sweetheart,  with  the  gift  of  a 
"  specimen,"  had  always  received  due  atten 
tion  at  the  hands  of  this  elegant  humorist. 
But  the  operation  was.  conducted  to-night 
with  business  severity  and  silence.  The  two 


128      IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

leaders  sat  opposite  to  each  other,  in  what 
might  have  appeared  to  the  rest  of  the  band 
a  scarcely  veiled  surveillance  of  each  other's 
actions.  When  the  examination  was  con 
cluded,  and  the  more  valuable  inclosures  put 
aside,  the  despoiled  letters  were  carried  to 
the  fire  and  heaped  upon  the  coals.  Pres 
ently  the  chimney  added  its  roar  to  the 
moaning  of  the  distant  hillside,  a  few  sparks 
leaped  up  and  died  out  in  the  midnight  air, 
as  if  the  pathos  and  sentiment  of  the  un 
conscious  correspondents  had  exhaled  with 
them. 

"  That  's  a  d— d  foolish  thing  to  do," 
growled  French  Pete  over  his  cards. 

"Why  ?  "  demanded  Chivers  sharply. 

"Why?  —  why,  it  makes  a  flare  in  the 
sky  that  any  scout  can  see,  and  a  scent  for 
him  to  follow." 

"  We  're  four  miles  from  any  traveled 
road,"  returned  Chivers  contemptuously, 
"  and  the  man  who  could  see  that  glare  and 
smell  that  smoke  would  be  on  his  way  here 
already." 

"  That  reminds  me  that  that  chap  you  've 
tied  up  —  that  Collinson  —  allows  he  wants 
to  see  you,"  continued  French  Pete. 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.       129 

"  To  see  me  !  "  repeated  Chivers.  "  You 
mean  the  Captain  ?  " 

"  I  reckon  he  means  you"  returned 
French  Pete  ;  "  he  said  the  man  who  talked 
so  purty." 

The  men  looked  at  each  other  with  a 
smile  of  anticipation,  and  put  down  their 
cards.  Chivers  walked  towards  the  door  ; 
one  or  two  rose  to  their  feet  as  if  to  follow, 
but  Riggs  stopped  them  peremptorily.  "  Sit 
down,"  he  said  roughly;  then,  as  Chivers 
passed  him,  he  added  to  him  in  a  lower  tone, 
"  Remember." 

Slightly  squaring  his  shoulders  and  open 
ing  his  coat,  to  permit  a  rhetorical  freedom, 
which  did  not,  however,  prevent  him  from 
keeping  touch  with  the  butt  of  his  revolver, 
Chivers  stepped  into  the  open  air.  Collin- 
son  had  been  moved  to  the  shelter  of  an 
overhang  of  the  roof,  probably  more  for  the 
comfort  of  the  guard,  who  sat  cross-legged 
on  the  ground  near  him,  than  for  his  own. 
Dismissing  the  man  with  a  gesture,  Chivers 
straightened  himself  before  his  captive. 

"  We  deeply  regret  that  your  unfortunate 
determination,  my  dear  sir,  has  been  the 
means  of  depriving  us  of  the  pleasure  of 


130       IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

your  company,  and  you  of  your  absolute 
freedom  ;  but  may  we  cherish  the  hope  that 
your  desire  to  see  me  may  indicate  some 
change  in  your  opinion  ?  " 

By  the  light  of  the  sentry's  lantern  left 
upon  the  ground,  Chivers  could  see  that  Col- 
linson's  face  wore  a  slightly  troubled  and 
even  apologetic  expression. 

"  I  've  bin  thinkin',"  said  Collinson,  rais 
ing  his  eyes  to  his  captor  with  a  singularly 
new  and  shy  admiration  in  them,  "  mebbee 
not  so  much  of  wot  you  said,  ez  how  you  said 
it,  and  it 's  kinder  bothered  me,  sittin'  here, 
that  I  ain't  bin  actin'  to  you  boys  quite  on 
the  square.  I  Ve  said  to  myself,  '  Collinson, 
thar  ain't  another  house  betwixt  Bald  Top 
and  Skinner's  whar  them  fellows  kin  get  a 
bite  or  a  drink  to  help  themselves,  and  you 
ain't  offered  'em  neither.  It  ain't  no  matter 
who  they  are  or  how  they  came:  whether 
they  came  crawling  along  the  road  from  the 
valley,  or  dropped  down  upon  you  like  them 
rocks  from  the  grade ;  yere  they  are,  and 
it 's  your  duty,  ez  long  ez  you  keep  this  yer 
house  for  your  wife  in  trust,  so  to  speak,  for 
wanderers.'  And  I  ain't  forgettin'  yer 
ginerel  soft  style  and  easy  gait  with  me  when 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.       131 

you  kem  here.  It  ain't  every  man  as  could 
walk  into  another  man's  house  arter  the 
owner  of  it  had  grabbed  a  gun,  ez  soft-speak- 
in',  ez  overlookin',  and  ez  perlite  ez  you. 
I  've  acted  mighty  rough  and  low-down,  and 
I  knpw  it.  And  I  sent  for  you  to  say  that 
you  and  your  folks  kin  use  this  house  and 
all  that 's  in  it  ez  long  ez  you  're  in  trouble. 
I  've  told  you  why  I  could  n't  sell  the  house 
to  ye,  and  why  I  could  n't  leave  it.  But  ye 
kin  use  it,  and  while  ye  're  here,  and  when 
you  go,  Collinson  don't  tell  nobody.  I  don't 
know  what  ye  mean  by  <  binding  myself '  to 
keep  your  secret;  when  Collinson  says  a 
thing  he  sticks  to  it,  and  when  he  passes  his 
word  with  a  man,  or  a  man  passes  his  word 
with  him,  it  don't  need  no  bit  of  paper." 

There  was  no  doubt  of  its  truth.  In  the 
grave,  upraised  eyes  of  his  prisoner,  Chivers 
saw  the  certainty  that  he  could  trust  him, 
even  far  more  than  he  could  trust  any  one 
within  the  house  he  had  just  quitted.  But 
this  very  certainty,  for  all  its  assurance  of 
safety  to  himself,  filled  him,  not  with  re 
morse,  which  might  have  been  an  evanes 
cent  emotion,  but  with  a  sudden  alarming 
and  terrible  consciousness  of  being  in  the 


132       IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

presence  of  a  hitherto  unknown  and  immea 
surable  power !  He  had  no  pity  for  the  man 
who  trusted  him ;  he  had  no  sense  of  shame 
in  taking  advantage  of  it ;  he  even  felt  an 
intellectual  superiority  in  this  want  of  saga 
city  in  his  dupe  ;  but  he  still  felt  in  some  way 
defeated,  insulted,  shocked,  and  frightened. 
At  first,  like  all  scoundrels,  he  had  measured 
the  man  by  himself  ;  was  suspicious  and  pre 
pared  for  rivalry ;  but  the  grave  truthfulness 
of  Colliiison's  eyes  left  him  helpless.  He 
was  terrified  by  this  unknown  factor.  The 
right  that  contends  and  fights  often  stimulates 
its  adversary;  the  right  that  yields  leaves 
the  victor  vanquished.  Chivers  could  even 
have  killed  Collinson  in  his  vague  discom 
fiture,  but  he  had  a  terrible  consciousness 
that  there  was  something  behind  him  that  he 
could  not  make  way  with.  That  was  why 
this  accomplished  rascal  felt  his  flaccid  cheeks 
grow  purple  and  his  glib  tongue  trip  before 
his  captive. 

But  Collinson,  more  occupied  with  his 
own  shortcomings,  took  no  note  of  this,  and 
Chivers  quickly  recovered  his  wits,  if  not  his 
former  artificiality.  "All  right,"  he  said 
quickly,  with  a  hurried  glance  at  the  door 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.       133 

behind  him.  "  Now  that  you  think  better 
of  it,  I  '11  be  frank  with  you,  and  tell  you 
I  'm  your  friend.  You  understand,  —  your 
friend.  Don't  talk  much  to  those  men  — 
don't  give  yourself  away  to  them ; "  he 
laughed  this  time  in  absolute  natural  embar 
rassment.  "  Don't  talk  about  your  wife,  and 
this  house,  but  just  say  you  've  made  the 
thing  up  with  me,  —  with  me,  you  know, 
and  I  '11  see  you  through."  An  idea,  as  yet 
vague,  that  he  could  turn  Collinson's  un 
expected  docility  to  his  own  purposes,  pos 
sessed  him  even  in  his  embarrassment,  and 
he  was  still  more  strangely  conscious  of  his 
inordinate  vanity  gathering  a  fearful  joy 
from  Collinson's  evident  admiration.  It 
was  heightened  by  his  captive's  next  words. 
"  Ef  I  was  n't  tied  I  'd  shake  hands  with 
ye  on  that.  You  're  the  kind  o'  man,  Mr. 
Chivers,  that  I  cottoned  to  from  the  first. 
Ef  this  house  was  n't  hers,  I  'd  a'  bin  tempted 
to  cotton  to  yer  offer,  too,  and  mebbee  made 
yer  one  myself,  for  it  seems  to  me  your 
style  and  mine  would  sorter  jibe  together. 
But  I  see  you  sdbe  what 's  in  my  mind,  and 
make  allowance.  We  don't  want  no  bit  o' 
paper  to  shake  hands  on  that.  Your  secret 


134       IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

and  your  folk's  secret  is  mine,  and  I  don't 
blab  that  any  more  than  I  'd  blab  to  them 
wot  you  've  just  told  me." 

Under  a  sudden  impulse,  Chivers  leaned 
forward,  and>  albeit  with  somewhat  unsteady 
hands  and  an  embarrassed  will,  untied  the 
cords  that  held  Collinson  in  his  chair.  As 
the  freed  man  stretched  himself  to  his  full 
height,  he  looked  gravely  down  into  the 
bleared  eyes  of  his  captor,  and  held  out  his 
strong  right  hand.  Chivers  took  it.  Whether 
there  was  some  occult  power  in  Collinson's 
honest  grasp,  I  know  not ;  but  there  sprang 
up  in  Chivers's  agile  mind  the  idea  that  a 
good  way  to  get  rid  of  Mrs.  Collinson  was  to 
put  her  in  the  way  of  her  husband's  finding 
her,  and  for  an  instant,  in  the  contemplation 
of  that  idea,  this  supreme  rascal  absolutely 
felt  an  embarrassing  glow  of  virtue. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  astonishment  of  Preble  Key  on  rec 
ognizing  the  gateway  into  which  the  mys 
terious  lady  had  vanished  was  so  great  that 
he  was  at  first  inclined  to  believe  her  entry 
there  a  mere  trick  of  his  fancy.  That  the 
confederate  of  a  gang  of  robbers  should  be 
admitted  to  the  austere  recesses  of  the  con 
vent,  with  a  celerity  that  bespoke  familiar 
ity,  was  incredible.  He  again  glanced  up 
and  down  the  length  of  the  shadowed  but 
still  visible  wall.  There  was  no  one  there. 
The  wall  itself  contained  no  break  or  recess 
in  which  one  could  hide,  and  this  was  the 
only  gateway.  The  opposite  side  of  the 
street  in  the  full  moonlight  stared  emptily. 
No!  Unless  she  were  an  illusion  herself 
and  his  whole  chase  a  dream,  she  must  have 
entered  here. 

But  the  chase  was  not  hopeless.  He  had 
at  least  tracked  her  to  a  place  where  she 
could  be  identified.  It  was  not  a  hotel, 
which  she  could  leave  at  any  moment  un- 


136       IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

observed.     Though  he  could  not  follow  her 
and    penetrate   its  seclusion  now,  he  could 
later  —  thanks  to  his  old  associations  with 
the  padres  of  the  contiguous  college  —  gain 
an    introduction    to    the  Lady  Superior  on 
some   pretext.      She    was    safe    there    that 
night.     He  turned  away  with  a  feeling  of 
relief.     The  incongruity  of  her  retreat  as 
sumed  a  more  favorable  aspect  to  his  hopes. 
He  looked  at  the   hallowed  walls  and  the 
slumbering  peacefulness  of  the  gnarled  old 
trees   that   hid   the   convent,  and  a  gentle 
reminiscence   of   his  youth  stole  over  him. 
It  was  not  the  first  time  that  he  had  gazed 
wistfully   upon   that   chaste    refuge   where, 
perhaps,  the   bright    eyes  that  he  had   fol 
lowed  in  the  quaint  school  procession  under 
the  leafy  Alameda  in   the   afternoon,  were 
at   last    closed    in   gentle    slumber.     There 
was    the    very   grille    through    which    the 
wicked    Conchita  —  or,  was   it  Dolores^  — 
had  shot  her  Parthian  glance  at  the  linger 
ing  student.     And    the  man  of    thirty-five, 
prematurely   gray    and    settled    in    fortune, 
smiled   as   he  turned  away,  and  forgot  the 
adventuress  of  thirty  who  had  brought  him 
there. 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.      137 

The  next  morning  he  was  up  betimes 
and  at  the  college  of  San  Jose.  Father 
Cipriano,  a  trifle  more  snuffy  and  aged, 
remembered  with  delight  his  old  pupil. 
Ah !  it  was  true,  then,  that  he  had  become 
a  mining  president,  and  that  was  why  his 
hair  was  gray;  but  he  trusted  that  Don 
Preble  had  not  forgot  that  this  was  not  all 
of  life,  and  that  fortune  brought  great  re 
sponsibilities  and  cares.  But  what  was  this, 
then  ?  He  had  thought  of  bringing  out 
some  of  his  relations  from  the  States,  and 
placing  a  niece  in  the  convent.  That  was 
good  and  wise.  Ah,  yes.  For  education 
in  this  new  country,  one  must  .turn  to  the 
church.  And  he  would  see  the  Lady  Su 
perior  ?  Ah !  that  was  but  the  twist  of 
one's  finger  and  the  lifting  of  a  latch  to  a 
grave,  superintendent  and  a  gray  head  like 
that.  Of  course,  he  had  not  forgotten  the 
convent  and  the  young  senoritas,  nor-  the 
discipline  and  the  suspended  holidays.  Ah ! 
it  was  a  special  grace  of  our  Lady  that  he, 
Father  Cipriano,  had  not  been  worried  into 
his  grave  by  those  foolish  muchachos.  Yet, 
when  he  had  extinguished  a  snuffy  chuckle 
in  his  red  bandana  handkerchief,  Key 


138      IZV  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

knew  that  he  would  accompany  him  to  the 
convent  that  noon. 

It  was  with  a  slight  stirring  of  shame 
over  his  elaborate  pretext  that  he  passed 
the  gate  of  the  Sacred  Heart  with  the  good 
father.  But  it  is  to  be  feared  that  he  speed 
ily  forgot  that  in  the  unexpected  informa 
tion  that  it  elicited.  The  Lady  Superior 
was  gracious,  and  even  enthusiastic.  Ah, 
yes,  it  was  a  growing  custom  of  the  Ameri 
can  caballeros  —  who  had  no  homes,  nor 
yet  time  to  create  any  —  to  bring  their 
sisters,  wards,  and  nieces  here,  and  —  with 
a  dove-like  side-glance  towards  Key  —  even 
the  young  senoritas  they  wished  to  fit  for 
their  Christian  brides!  Unlike  the  cabal- 
lero,  there  were  many  business  men  so  im 
mersed  in  their  affairs  that  they  could  not 
find  time  for  a  personal  examination  of  the 
convent,  —  which  was  to  be  regretted,  —  but 
who,  trusting  to  the  reputation  of  the  Sacred 
Heart  and  its  good  friends,  simply  sent  the 
young  lady  there  by  some  trusted  female 
companion.  Notably  this  was  the  case  of 
the  Senor  Rivers,  —  did  Don  Preble  ever 
know  him  ?  —  a  great  capitalist  in  the 
Sierras,  whose  sweet  young  sister,  a  naive, 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.      139 

ingenuous  creature,  was  the  pride  of  the 
convent.  Of  course,  it  was  better  that  it 
was  so.  Discipline  and  seclusion  had  to  be 
maintained.  The  young  girl  should  look 
upon  this  as  her  home.  The  rules  for  vis 
itors  were  necessarily  severe.  It  was  rare 
indeed  —  except  in  a  case  of  urgency,  such 
as  happened  last  night  —  that  even  a  lady, 
unless  the  parent  of  a  scholar,  was  admitted 
to  the  hospitality  of  the  convent.  And  this 
lady  was  only  the  friend  of  that  same  sister 
of  the  American  capitalist,  although  she  was 
the  one  who  had  brought  her  there.  No, 
she  was  not  a  relation.  Perhaps  Don  Preble 
had  heard  of  a  Mrs.  Barker,  —  the  friend  of 
Rivers  of  the  Sierras.  It  was  a  queer  com 
bination  of  names.  But  what  will  you  ? 
The  names  of  Americanos  mean  nothing. 
And  Don  Preble  knows  them  not.  Ah ! 
possibly  ?  —  good !  The  lady  would  be 
remembered,  being  tall,  dark,  and  of  fine 
presence,  though  sad.  A  few  hours  earlier 
and  Don  Preble  could  have  judged  for  him 
self,  for,  as  it  were,  she  might  have  passed 
through  this  visitors'  room.  But  she  was 
gone  —  departed  by  the  coach.  It  was 
from  a  telegram  —  those  heathen  contri- 


140      IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

vances  that  blurt  out  things  to  you,  with 
never  an  excuse,  nor  a  smile,  nor  a  kiss  of 
the  hand !  For  her  part,  she  never  let  her 
scholars  receive  them,  but  opened  them 
herself,  and  translated  them  in  a  Christian 
spirit,  after  due  preparation,  at  her  leisure. 
And  it  was  this  telegram  that  made  the 
Senora  Barker  go,  or,  without  doubt,  she 
would  have  of  herself  told  to  the  Don 
Preble,  her  compatriot  of  the  Sierras,  how 
good  the  convent  was  for  his  niece. 

Stung  by  the  thought  that  this  woman 
had  again  evaded  him,  and  disconcerted 
and  confused  by  the  scarcely  intelligible 
information  he  had  acquired,  Key  could 
with  difficulty  maintain  his  composure. 
"  The  caballero  is  tired  of  his  long  pasear" 
said  the  Lady  Superior  gently.  "  We  will 
have  a  glass  of  wine  in  the  lodge  waiting- 
room."  She  led  the  way  from  the  reception 
room  to  the  outer  door,  but  stopped  at  the 
sound  of  approaching  footsteps  and  rustling 
muslin  along  the  gravel  walk.  "  The  second 
class  are  going  out,"  she  said,  as  a  gentle 
procession  of  white  frocks,  led  by  two  nuns, 
filed  before  the  gateway.  "  We  will  wait 
until  they  have  passed.  But  the  senor  can 
see  that  my  children  do  not  look  unhappy." 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.       141 

They  certainly  looked  very  cheerful,  al 
though  they  had  halted  before  the  gateway 
with  a  little  of  the  demureness  of  young 
people  who  know  they  are  overlooked  by 
authority,  and  had  bumped  against  each 
other  with  affected  gravity.  Somewhat 
ashamed  of  his  useless  deception,  and  the 
guileless  simplicity  of  the  good  Lady  Supe 
rior,  Key  hesitated  and  began :  "  I  am  afraid 
that  I  am  really  giving  you  too  much 
trouble,"  and  suddenly  stopped. 

For  as  his  voice  broke  the  demure  silence, 
one  of  the  nearest  —  a  young  girl  of  appar 
ently  seventeen —  turned  towards  him  with 
a  quick  and  an  apparently  irresistible  im 
pulse,  and  as  quickly  turned  away  again. 
But  in  that  instant  Key  caught  a  glimpse  of 
a  face  that  might  not  only  have  thrilled  him 
in  its  beauty,  its  freshness,  but  in  some 
vague  suggestiveness.  Yet  it  was  not  that 
which  set  his  pulses  beating ;  it  was  the  look 
of  joyous  recognition  set  in  the  parted  lips 
and  sparkling  eyes,  the  glow  of  childlike 
innocent  pleasure  that  mantled  the  sweet 
young  face,  the  frank  confusion  of  sud 
denly  realized  expectancy  and  longing.  A 
great  truth  gripped  his  throbbing  heart,  and 


142       IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

held  it  still.  It  was  the  face  that  he  had 
seen  in  the  hollow  ! 

The  movement  of  the  young  girl  was  too 
marked  to  escape  the  eye  of  the  Lady  Su 
perior,  though  she  had  translated  it  differ 
ently.  "  You  must  not  believe  our  young 
ladies  are  all  so  rude,  Don  Preble,"  she 
said  dryly;  " though  our  dear  child  has 
still  some  of  the  mountain  freedom.  And 
this  is  the  Senor  Kivers's  sister.  But  possi 
bly —  who  knows?"  she  said  gently,  yet 
with  a  sudden  sharpness  in  her  clear  eyes, 
—  "  perhaps  she  recognized  in  your  voice  a 
companion  of  her  brother." 

Luckily  for  Key,  the  shock  had  been  so 
sudden  and  overpowering  that  he  showed 
none  of  the  lesser  symptoms  of  agitation  or 
embarrassment.  In  this  revelation  of  a 
secret,  that  he  now  instinctively  felt  was 
bound  up  with  his  own  future  happiness,  he 
exhibited  none  of  the  signs  of  a  discovered 
intriguer  or  unmasked  Lothario.  He  said 

O 

quietly  and  coldly :  "I  am  afraid  I  have 
not  the  pleasure  of  knowing  the  young  lady, 
and  certainly  have  never  before  addressed 
her."  Yet  he  scarcely  heard  his  compan 
ion's  voice,  and  answered  mechanically,  see- 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.       143 

ing  only  before  him  the  vision  of  the  girl's 
bewitching  face,  in  its  still  more  bewitch 
ing  consciousness  of  his  presence.  With  all 
that  he  now  knew,  or  thought  he  knew, 
came  a  strange  delicacy  of  asking  further 
questions,  a  vague  fear  of  compromising  her, 
a  quick  impatience  of  his  present  deception  ; 
even  his  whole  quest  of  her  seemed  now  to 
be  a  profanation,  for  which  he  must  ask 
her  forgiveness.  He  longed  to  be  alone  to 
recover  himself.  Even  the  temptation  to 
linger  on  some  pretext,  and  wait  for  her 
return  and  another  glance  from  her  joyous 
eyes,  was  not  as  strong  as  his  conviction  of 
the  necessity  of  cooler  thought  and  action. 
He  had  met  his  fate  that  morning,  for  good 
or  ill ;  that  was  all  he  knew.  As  soon  as 
he  could  decently  retire,  he  thanked  the 
Lady  Superior,  promised  to  communicate 
with  her  later,  and  taking  leave  of  Fa 
ther  Cipriano,  found  himself  again  in  the 
street. 

Who  was  she,  what  was  she,  and  what 
meant  her  joyous  recognition  of  him?  It 
is  to  be  feared  that  it  was  the  last  question 
that  affected  him  most,  now  that  he  felt  that 
he  must  have  really  loved  her  from  the  first. 


144      IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

Had  she  really  seen  him  before,  and  had 
been  as  mysteriously  impressed  as  he  was? 
It  was  not  the  reflection  of  a  conceited  man, 
for  Key  had  not  that  kind  of  vanity,  and 
he  had  already  touched  the  humility  that  is 
at  the  base  of  any  genuine  passion.  But 
he  would  not  think  of  that  now.  He  had 
established  the  identity  of  the  other  woman, 
as  being  her  companion  in  the  house  in  the 
hollow  on  that  eventful  night ;  but  it  was 
her  profile  that  he  had  seen  at  the  window. 
The  mysterious  brother  Rivers  might  have 
been  one  of  the  robbers,  —  perhaps  the  one 
who  accompanied  Mrs.  Barker  to  San  Jose. 
But  it  was  plain  that  the  young  girl  had 
no  complicity  with  the  actions  of  the  "gang, 
whatever  might  have  been  her  companion's 
confederation.  In  the  prescience  of  a  true 
lover,  he  knew  that  she  must  have  been 
deceived  and  kept  in  utter  ignorance  of  it. 
There  was  no  look  of  it  in  her  lovely,  guile 
less  eyes ;  her  very  impulsiveness  and  in 
genuousness  would  have  long  since  betrayed 
the  secret.  Was  it  left  for  him,  at  this  very 
outset  of  his  passion,  to  be  the  one  to  tell 
her  ?  Could  he  bear  to  see  those  frank, 
beautiful  eyes  dimmed  with  shame  and  sor- 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.       145 

row  ?  His  own  grew  moist.  Another  idea 
began  to  haunt  him.  Would  it  not  be  wiser, 
even  more  manly,  for  him  —  a  man  over 
twice  her  years  —  to  leave  her  alone  with 
her  secret,  and  so  pass  out  of  her  innocent 
young  life  as  chancefully  as  he  had  entered 
it  ?  But  was  it  altogether  chanceful  ?  Was 
there  not  in  her  innocent  happiness  in  him 
a  recognition  of  something  in  him  better 
than  he  had  dared  to  think  himself?  It 
was  the  last  conceit  of  the  humility  of  love. 
He  reached  his  hotel  at  last,  unresolved, 
perplexed,  yet  singularly  happy.  The  clerk 
handed  him,  in  passing,  a  business-looking 
letter,  formally  addressed.  Without  open 
ing  it,  he  took  it  to  his  room,  and  throwing 
himself  listlessly  on  a  chair  by  the  window 
again  tried  to  think.  But  the  atmosphere 
of  his  room  only  recalled  to  him  the  mys 
terious  gift  he  had  found  the  day  before  on 
his  pillow.  He  felt  now  with  a  thrill  that 
it  must  have  been  from  her.  How  did  she 
convey  it  there  ?  She  would  not  have  in 
trusted  it  to  Mrs.  Barker.  The  idea  struck 
him  now  as  distastefully  as  it  seemed  im 
probable.  Perhaps  she  had  been  here  her 
self  with  her  companion  —  the  convent  some- 


146       IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

times  made  that  concession  to  a  relative  or 
well-known  friend.  He  recalled  the  fact 
that  he  had  seen  Mrs.  Barker  enter  the 
hotel  alone,  after  the  incident  of  the  open 
ing  door,  while  he  was  leaning  over  the 
balustrade.  It  was  she  who  was  alone  then, 
and  had  recognized  his  voice ;  and  he  had 
not  known  it.  She  was  out  again  to-day 
with  the  procession.  A  sudden  idea  struck 
him.  He  glanced  quickly  at  the  letter  in 
his  hand,  and  hurriedly  opened  it.  It  con 
tained  only  three  lines,  in  a  large  formal 
hand,  but  they  sent  the  swift  blood  to  his 
cheeks. 

"  I  heard  your  voice  to-day  for  the  third 
time.  I  want  to  hear  it  again.  I  will  come 
at  dusk.  Do  not  go  out  until  then." 

He  sat  stupefied.  Was  it  madness,  au 
dacity,  or  a  trick?  He  summoned  the 
waiter.  The  letter  had  been  left  by  a  boy 
from  the  confectioner's  shop  in  the  next 
block.  He  remembered  it  of  old,  —  a  resort 
for  the  young  ladies  of  the  convent.  Nothing 
was  easier  than  conveying  a  letter  in  that 
way.  He  remembered  with  a  shock  of  dis 
illusion  and  disgust  that  it  was  a  common 
device  of  silly  but  innocent  assignation. 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.       147 

Was  he  to  be  the  ridiculous  accomplice  of  a 
schoolgirl's  extravagant  escapade,  or  the  de 
luded  victim  of  some  infamous  plot  of  her 
infamous  companion  ?  He  could  not  believe 
either ;  yet  he  could  not  check  a  certain  re 
vulsion  of  feeling  towards  her,  which  only  a 
moment  ago  he  would  have  believed  impos 
sible. 

Yet  whatever  was  her  purpose,  he  must 
prevent  her  coming  there  at  any  hazard. 
Her  visit  would  be  the  culmination  of  her 
folly,  or  the  success  of  any  plot.  Even 
while  he  was  fully  conscious  of  the  material 
effect  of  any  scandal  and  exposure  to  her, 
even  while  he  was  incensed  and  disillusion 
ized  at  her  unexpected  audacity,  he  was  un 
usually  stirred  with  the  conviction  that  she 
was  wronging  herself,  and  that  more  than 
ever  she  demanded  his  help  and  his  con 
sideration.  Still  she  must  not  come.  But 
how  was  he  to  prevent  her  ?  It  wanted  but 
an  hour  of  dusk.  Even  if  he  could  again 
penetrate  the  convent  on  some  pretext  at 
that  inaccessible  hour  for  visitors,  —  twi 
light,  —  how  could  he  communicate  with 
her  ?  He  might  intercept  her  on  the  way, 
and  persuade  her  to  return ;  but  she  must 
be  kept  from  entering  the  hotel. 


148       IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

He  seized  his  hat  and  rushed  downstairs. 
But  here  another  difficulty  beset  him.  It 
was  easy  enough  to  take  the  ordinary  road 
to  the  convent,  but  would  she  follow  that 
public  one  in  what  must  be  a  surreptitious 
escape?  And  might  she  not  have  eluded 
the  procession  that  morning,  and  even  now 
be  concealed  somewhere,  waiting  for  the 
darkness  to  make  her  visit.  He  concluded 
to  patrol  the  block  next  to  the  hotel,  yet 
near  enough  to  intercept  her  before  she 
reached  it,  until  the  hour  came.  The  time 
passed  slowly.  He  loitered  before  shop  win 
dows,  or  entered  and  made  purchases,  with 
his  eye  on  the  street.  The  figure  of  a  pretty 
girl,  —  and  there  were  many,  —  the  flutter 
ing  ribbons  on  a  distant  hat,  or  the  flashing 
of  a  cambric  skirt  around  the  corner  sent  a 
nervous  thrill  through  him.  The  reflection 
of  his  grave,  abstracted  face  against  a  shop 
window,  or  the  announcement  of  the  work 
ings  of  his  own  mine  on  a  bulletin  board,  in 
its  incongruity  with  his  present  occupation, 
gave  him  an  hysterical  impulse  to  laugh. 
The  shadows  were  already  gathering,  when 
he  saw  a  slender,  graceful  figure  disappear 
in  the  confectioner's  shop  011  the  block 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.       149 

below.  In  his  elaborate  precautions,  he  had 
overlooked  that  common  trysting  spot.  He 
hurried  thither,  and  entered.  The  object  of 
his  search  was  not  there,  and  he  was  com 
pelled  to  make  a  shamefaced,  awkward  sur 
vey  of  the  tables  in  an  inner  refreshment 
saloon  to  satisfy  himself.  Any  one  of  the 
pretty  girls  seated  there  might  have  been 
the  one  who  had  just  entered,  but  none  was 
the  one  he  sought.  He  hurried  into  the 
street  again,  —  he  had  wasted  a  precious 
moment,  —  and  resumed  his  watch.  The 
sun  had  sunk,  the  Angelus  had  rung  out  of 
a  chapel  belfry,  and  shadows  were  darken 
ing  the  vista  of  the  Alameda.  She  had  not 
come.  Perhaps  she  had  thought  better  of 
it ;  perhaps  she  had  been  prevented ;  per 
haps  the  whole  appointment  had  been  only  a 
trick  of  some  day-scholars,  who  were  laugh 
ing  at  him  behind  some  window.  In  pro 
portion  as  he  became  convinced  that  she 
was  not  coming,  he  was  conscious  of  a  keen 
despair  growing  in  his  heart,  and  a  sicken 
ing  remorse  that  he  had  ever  thought  of 
preventing  her.  And  when  he  at  last  re 
luctantly  reentered  the  hotel,  he  was  as 
miserable  over  the  conviction  that  she  was 


150       IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

not  coming  as  he  had  been  at  her  expected 
arrival.  The  porter  met  him  hurriedly  in 
the  hall. 

"  Sister  Seraphina  of  the  Sacred  Heart 
has  been  here,  in  a  hurry  to  see  you  on  a 
matter  of  importance,"  he  said,  eyeing  Key 
somewhat  curiously.  "  She  would  not  wait 
in  the  public  parlor,  as  she  said  her  business 
was  confidential,  so  I  have  put  her  in  a  pri 
vate  sitting-room  on  your  floor." 

Key  felt  the  blood  leave  his  cheeks.  The 
secret  was  out  for  all  his  precaution.  The 
Lady  Superior  had  discovered  the  girl's 
flight,  —  or  her  attempt.  One  of  the  gov 
erning  sisterhood  was  here  to  arraign  him 
for  it,  or  at  least  prevent  an  open  scandal. 
Yet  he  was  resolved;  and  seizing  this  last 
straw,  he  hurriedly  mounted  the  stairs,  de 
termined  to  do  battle  at  any  risk  for  the 
girl's  safety,  and  to  perjure  himself  to  any 
extent. 

She  was  standing  in  the  room  by  the  win 
dow.  The  light  fell  upon  the  coarse  serge 
dress  with  its  white  facings,  on  the  single 
girdle  that  scarcely  defined  the  formless 
waist,  on  the  huge  crucifix  that  dangled  un 
gracefully  almost  to  her  knees,  on  the 


I^V  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.       151 

hideous,  white-winged  coif  that,  with  the 
coarse  but  dense  white  veil,  was  itself  a  re 
nunciation  of  all  human  vanity.  It  was  a 
figure  he  remembered  well  as  a  boy,  and 
even  in  his  excitement  and  half  resentment 
touched  him  now,  as  when  a  boy,  with  a 
sense  of  its  pathetic  isolation.  His  head 
bowed  with  boyish  deference  as  she  ap 
proached  gently,  passed  him  a  slight  saluta 
tion,  and  closed  the  door  that  he  had  for 
gotten  to  shut  behind  him. 

Then,  with  a  rapid  movement,  so  quick 
that  he  could  scarcely  follow  it,  the  coif,  veil, 
rosary,  and  crucifix  were  swept  off,  and  the 
young  pupil  of  the  convent  stood  before 
him. 

For  all  the  sombre  suggestiveness  of  her 
disguise  and  its  ungraceful  contour,  there 
was  no  mistaking  the  adorable  little  head, 
tumbled  all  over  with  silky  tendrils  of  hair 
from  the  hasty  withdrawal  of  her  coif,  or 
the  blue  eyes  that  sparkled  with  frank  de 
light  beneath  them.  Key  thought  her  more 
beautiful  than  ever.  Yet  the  very  effect  of 
her  frankness  and  beauty  was  to  recall  him 
to  all  the  danger  and  incongruity  of  her 
position. 


152       IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

"  This  is  madness,  "  he  said  quickly. 
"You  may  be  followed  here  and  discovered 
in  this  costume  at  any  moment ! "  Never 
theless,  he  caught  the  two  little  hands  that 
had  been  extended  to  him,  and  held  them 
tightly,  and  with  a  frank  familiarity  that  he 
would  have  wondered  at  an  instant  before. 

"  But  I  won't,  "  she  said  simply.  "  You 
see  I  'm  doing  a '  half -retreat ' ;  and  I  stay  with 
Sister  Seraphina  in  her  room  ;  and  she  always 
sleeps  two  hours  after  the  Angelus  ;  and  I 
got  out  without  anybody  knowing  me,  in  her 
clothes.  I  see  what  it  is,"  she  said,  suddenly 
bending  a  reproachful  glance  upon  him,  "  you 
don't  like  me  in  them.  I  know  they  're  just 
horrid ;  but  it  was  the  only  way  I  could  get 
out." 

"  You  don't  understand  me, "  he  said 
eagerly.  "  I  don't  like"  you  to  run  these 
dreadful  risks  and  dangers  for"  He 

would  have  said  "  for  me,  "  but  added  with 
sudden  humility  —  "for  nothing.  Had  I 
dreamed  that  you  cared  to  see  me,  I  would 
have  arranged  it  easily  without  this  indiscre 
tion,  which  might  make  others  misjudge  you. 
Every  instant  that  you  remain  here  —  worse, 
every  moment  that  you  are  away  from  the 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.       153 

convent  in  that  disguise,  is  fraught  with 
danger.  I  know  you  never  thought  of  it." 

"  But  I  did,"  she  said  quietly ;  "  I  thought 
of  it,  and  thought  that  if  Sister  Seraphina 
woke  up,  and  they  sent  for  me,  you  would 
take  me  away  with  you  to  that  dear  little 
hollow  in  the  hills,  where  I  first  heard  your 
voice.  You  remember  it,  don't  you?  You 
were  lost,  I  think,  in  the  darkness,  and  I 
used  to  say  to  myself  afterwards  that  /  found 
you.  That  was  the  first  time.  Then  the 
second  time  I  heard  you,  was  here  in  the  hall. 
I  was  alone  in  the  other  room,  for  Mrs.  Barker 
had  gone  out.  I  did  not  know  you  were  here, 
but  I  knew  your  voice.  And  the  third  time 
was  before  the  convent  gate,  and  then  I  knew 
you  knew  me.  And  after  that  I  did  n't  think 
of  anything  but  coming  to  you ;  for  I  knew 
that  if  I  was  found  out,  you  would  take  me 
back  with  you,  and  perhaps  send  word  to  my 
brother  where  we  were,  and  then "  —  She 
stopped  suddenly,  with  her  eyes  fixed  on 
Key's  blank  face.  Her  own  grew  blank,  the 
joy  faded  out  of  her  clear  eyes,  she  gently 
withdrew  her  hand  from  his,  and  without  a 
word  began  to  resume  her  disguise. 

"  Listen  to  me,"  said  Key  passionately. 


154      IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

"  I  am  thinking  only  of  you.  I  want  to,  and 
will,  save  you  from  any  blame,  —  blame  you 
do  not  understand  even  now.  There  is  still 
time.  I  will  go  back  to  the  convent  with  you 
at  once.  You  shall  tell  me  everything;  I 
will  tell  you  everything  on  the  way." 

She  had  already  completely  resumed  her 
austere  garb,  and  drew  the  veil  across  her 
face.  With  the  putting  on  her  coif  she 
seemed  to  have  extinguished  all  the  joyous 
youthfulness  of  her  spirit,  and  moved  with 
the  deliberateness  of  renunciation  towards  the 
door.  They  descended  the  staircase  without 
a  word.  Those  who  saw  them  pass  made 
way  for  them  with  formal  respect. 

When  they  were  in  the  street,  she  said 
quietly,  "  Don't  give  me  your  arm  —  Sisters 
don't  take  it."  When  they  had  reached  the 
street  corner,  she  turned  it,  saying,  "  This  is 
the  shortest  way." 

It  was  Key  who  was  now  restrained,  awk 
ward,  and*  embarrassed.  The  fire  of  his 
spirit,  the  passion  he  had  felt  a  moment  be 
fore,  had  gone  out  of  him,  as  if  she  were  really 
the  character  she  had  assumed.  He  said  at 
last  desperately :  — 

"  How  long  did  you  live  in  the  hollow  ?  " 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.      155 

"  Only  two  days.  My  brother  was  bring 
ing  me  here  to  school,  but  in  the  stage  coach 
there  was  some  one  with  whom  he  had 
quarreled,  and  he  did  n't  want  to  meet  him 
with  me.  So  we  got  out  at  Skinner's,  and 
came  to  the  hollow,  where  his  old  friends, 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Barker,  lived." 

There  was  no  hesitation  nor  affectation  in 
her  voice.  Again  he  felt  that  he  would  as 
soon  have  doubted  the  words  of  the  Sister 
she  represented  as  her  own. 

"  And  your  brother  —  did  you  live  with 
him?" 

"  No.  I  was  at  school  at  Marysville  until 
he  took  me  away.  I  saw  little  of  him  for 
the  past  two  years,  for  he  had  business  in  the 
mountains  —  very  rough  business,  where  he 
could  n't  take  me,  for  it  kept  him  away  from 
the  settlements  for  weeks.  I  think  it  had 
something  to  do  with  cattle,  for  he  was  al 
ways  having  a  new  horse.  I  was  all  alone 
before  that,  too  ;  I  had  no  other  relations ;  I 
had  no  friends.  We  had  always  been  mov 
ing  about  so  much,  my  brother  and  me.  I 
never  saw  any  one  that  I  liked,  except  you, 
and  until  yesterday  I  had  only  heard  you." 

Her   perfect   naivete   alternately  thrilled 


156       IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

him  with  pain  and  doubt.     In  his  awkward 
ness  and  uneasiness  he  was  brutal. 

"  Yes,  but  you  must  have  met  somebody 
—  other  men  —  here  even,  when  you  were 
out  with  your  schoolfellows,  or  perhaps  on 
an  adventure  like  this." 

Her  white  coif  turned  towards  him 
quickly.  "  I  never  wanted  to  know  any 
body  else.  I  never  cared  to  see  anybody 
else.  I  never  would  have  gone  out  in  this 
way  but  for  you,"  she  said  hurriedly. 
After  a  pause  she  added  in  a  frightened 
tone :  "  That  did  n't  sound  like  your  voice 
then.  It  did  n't  sound  like  it  a  moment  ago 
either." 

"  But  you  are  sure  that  you  know  my 
voice,"  he  said,  with  affected  gayety.  "  There 
were  two  others  in  the  hollow  with  me  that 
night." 

"  I  know  that,  too.  But  I  know  even 
what  you  said.  You  reproved  them  for 
throwing  a  lighted  match  in  the  dry  grass. 
You  were  thinking  of  iis  then.  I  know  it." 

"  Of  us  ?  "  said  Key  quickly. 

"  Of  Mrs.  Barker  and  myself.  We  were 
alone  in  the  house,  for  my  brother  and  her 
husband  were  both  away.  What  you  said 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.      157 

seemed  to  forewarn  me,  and  I  told  her.  So 
we  were  prepared  when  the  fire  came  nearer, 
and  we  both  escaped  on  the  same  horse." 

"  And  you  dropped  your  shoes  in  your 
flight,"  said  Key  laughingly,  "  and  I  picked 
them  up  the  next  day,  when  I  came  to  search 
for  you.  I  have  kept  them  still." 

"  They  were  her  shoes,"  said  the  girl 
quickly.  "  I  could  n't  find  mine  in  our 
hurry,  and  hers  were  too  large  for  me,  and 
dropped  off."  She  stopped,  and  with  a  faint 
return  of  her  old  gladness  said,  "  Then  you 
did  come  back  ?  I  knew  you  would." 

"  I  should  have  stayed  then,  but  we  got 
no  reply  when  we  shouted.  Why  was  that  ?  " 
he  demanded  suddenly. 

"  Oh,  we  were  warned  against  speaking 
to  any  stranger,  or  even  being  seen  by  any 
one  while  we  were  alone,"  returned  the  girl 
simply. 

"  But  why  ?  "  persisted  Key. 

"  Oh,  because  there  were  so  many  high 
waymen  and  horse-stealers  in  the  woods. 
Why,  they  had  stopped  the  coach  only  a  few 
weeks  before,  and  only  a  day  or  two  ago, 
when  Mrs.  Barker  came  down.  She  saw 
them ! " 


158      IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

Key  with  difficulty  suppressed  a  groan. 
They  walked  on  in  silence  for  some  moments, 
he  scarcely  daring  to  lift  his  eyes  to  the 
decorous  little  figure  hastening  by  his  side. 
Alternately  touched  by  mistrust  and  pain, 
at  last  an  infinite  pity,  not  unmingled  with  a 
desperate  resolution,  took  possession  of  him. 

u  I  must  make  a  confession  to  you,  Miss 
Rivers,"  he  began  with  the  bashful  haste  of 
a  very  boy,  "  that  is "  -  he  stammered 
with  a  half  hysteric  laugh,  —  "  that  is  — 
a  confession  as  if  you  were  really  a  sister 
or  a  priest,  you  know  —  a  sort  of  confidence 
to  you  —  to  your  dress.  I  have  seen  you, 
or  thought  I  saw  you  before.  It  was  that 
which  brought  me  here,  that  which  made  me 
follow  Mrs.  Barker  —  my  only  clue  to  you 
—  to  the  door  of  that  convent.  That  night, 
in  the  hollow,  I  saw  a  profile  at  the  lighted 
window,  which  I  thought  was  yours." 

"  J  never  was  near  the  window,"  said  the 
young  girl  quickly.  "  It  must  have  been 
Mrs.  Barker." 

"  I  know  that  now,"  returned  Key.  "  But 
remember,  it  was  my  only  clue  to  you.  I 
mean,"  he  added  awkwardly,  "  it  was  the 
means  of  my  finding  you." 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.       159 

"  I  don't  see  how  it  made  you  think  of 
me,  whom  you  never  saw,  to  see  another 
woman's  profile,"  she  retorted,  with  the 
faintest  touch  of  asperity  in  her  childlike 
voice.  "  But,"  she  added,  more  gently  and 
with  a  relapse  into  her  adorable  naivete, 
"  most  people's  profiles  look  alike." 

"  It  was  not  that,"  protested  Key,  still 
awkwardly,  "it  was  only  that  I  realized 
something  —  only  a  dream,  perhaps." 

She  did  not  reply,  and  they  continued  on 
in  silence.  The  gray  wall  of  the  convent 
was  already  in  sight.  Key  felt  he  had 
achieved  nothing.  Except  for  information 
that  was  hopeless,  he  had  come  to  no  nearer 
understanding  of  the  beautiful  girl  beside 
him,  and  his  future  appeared  as  vague  as 
before ;  and,  above  all,  he  was  conscious  of 
an  inferiority  of  character  and  purpose  to 
this  simple  creature,  who  had  obeyed  him  so 
submissively.  Had  he  acted  wisely  ?  Would 
it  not  have  been  better  if  he  had  followed 
her  own  frankness,  and  — 

"  Then  it  was  Mrs.  Barker's  profile  that 
brought  you  here  ?  "  resumed  the  voice  be 
neath  the  coif.  "  You  know  she  has  gone 
back.  I  suppose  you  will  follow  ?  " 


160       IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

"  You  will  not  understand  me,"  said  Key 
desperately.  "  But,"  he  added  in  a  lower 
voice,  "  I  shall  remain  here  until  you  do." 

He  drew  a  little  closer  to  her  side. 

"  Then  you  must  not  begin  by  walking  so 
close  to  me,"  she  said,  moving  slightly 
away  ;  "  they  may  see  you  from  the  gate. 
And  you  must  not  go  with  me  beyond  that 
corner.  If  I  have  been  missed  already  they 
will  suspect  you." 

"  But  how  shall  I  know  ? "  he  said,  at 
tempting  to  take  her  hand.  "  Let  me  walk 
past  the  gate.  I  cannot  leave  you  in  this 
uncertainty." 

"  You  will  know  soon  enough,"  she  said 
gravely,  evading  his  hand.  "  You  must  not 
go  further  now.  Good-night." 

She  had  stopped  at  the  corner  of  the  wall. 
He  again  held  out  his  hand.  Her  little 
fingers  slid  coldly  between  his. 

"  Good-night,  Miss  Kivers." 

"  Stop  !  "  she  said  suddenly,  withdrawing 
her  veil  and  lifting  her  clear  eyes  to  his  in 
the  moonlight.  "  You  must  not  say  that  — 
it  is  n't  the  truth.  I  can't  bear  to  hear  it 
from  your  lips,  in  your  voice.  My  name  is 
not  Rivers ! ' 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.       161 

44  Not  Kivers  —  why  ?  "  said  Key,  as 
tounded. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know  why,"  she  said  half 
despairingly ;  "  only  my  brother  did  n't 
want  me  to  use  my  name  and  his  here,  and 
I  promised.  My  name  is  '  Riggs  '  -  -  there  ! 
It 's  a  secret  —  you  must  n't  tell  it ;  but  I 
could  not  bear  to  hear  you  say  a  lie." 

"Good-night,  Miss  Riggs,"  said  Key 
sadly. 

44  No,  nor  that  either,"  she  said  softly. 
44  Say  Alice." 

44  Good-night,  Alice." 

She  moved  on  before  him.  She  reached 
the  gate.  For  a  moment  her  figure,  in  its 
austere,  formless  garments,  seemed  to  him  to 
even  stoop  and  bend  forward  in  the  humility 
of  age  and  self-renunciation,  and  she  vanished 
within  as  into  a  living  tomb. 

Forgetting  all  precaution,  he  pressed 
eagerly  forward,  and  stopped  before  the  gate. 
There  was  no  sound  from  within  ;  there  had 
evidently  been  no  challenge  nor  interrup 
tion.  She  was  safe. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE  reappearance  of  Chivers  in  the  mill 
with  Collinson,  and  the  brief  announcement 
that  the  prisoner  had  consented  to  a  satis 
factory  compromise,  were  received  at  first 
with  a  half  contemptuous  smile  by  the  party ; 
but  for  the  commands  of  their  leaders,  and 
possibly  a  conviction  that  Collinson's  fatu 
ous  cooperation  with  Chivers  would  be  safer 
than  his  wrath,  which  might  not  expend  it 
self  only  on  Chivers,  but  imperil  the  safety 
of  all,  it  is  probable  that  they  would  have 
informed  the  unfortunate  prisoner  of  his 
real  relations  to  his  captor.  In  these  cir 
cumstances,  Chivers's  half  satirical  sugges 
tion  that  Collinson  should  be  added  to  the 
sentries  outside,  and  guard  his  own  property, 
was  surlily  assented  to  by  Riggs,  and  com 
placently  accepted  by  the  others.  Chivers 
offered  to  post  him  himself,  —  not  without 
an  interchange  of  meaning  glances  with 
s>  —  Collinson's  own  gun  was  returned 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.  "   163 

to  him,  and  the  strangely  assorted  pair  left 
the  mill  amicably  together. 

But  however  humanly  confident  Chivers 
was  in  his  companion's  faithfulness,  he  was 
not  without  a  rascal's  precaution,  and  deter 
mined   to    select   a   position    for   Collinson 
where  he  could  do  the  least  damage  in  any 
aberration  of  trust.    At  the  top  of  the  grade, 
above  the  mill,  was  the  only  trail  by  which  a 
party  in  force  could  approach  it.     This  was 
to  Chivers  obviously  too  strategic  a  position 
to  intrust  to  his  prisoner,   and  the  sentry 
who    guarded    its    approach,    five    hundred 
yards  away,  was  left  unchanged.     But  there 
was  another  "  blind  "  trail,  or  cut-off,  to  the 
left,  through  the  thickest  undergrowth  of  the 
woods,  known  only  to  his  party.     To  place 
Collinson  there  was  to   insure  him  perfect 
immunity  from  the  approach  of  an  enemy, 
as  well  as  from  any  confidential  advances  of 
his    fellow    sentry.     This    done,  he   drew  a 
cigar  from  his   pocket,   and  handing  it  to 
Collinson,  lighted  another  for  himself,  and 
leaning  back  comfortably  against    a  large 
boulder,  glanced   complacently  at  his  com 
panion. 

"  You  may  smoke  until  I  go,  Mr.  Collin- 


164       IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

son,  and  even  afterwards,  if  you  keep  the 
bowl  of  your  pipe  behind  a  rock,  so  as  to  be 
out  of  sight  of  your  fellow  sentry,  whose  ad 
vances,  by  the  way,  if  I  were  you,  I  should 
not  encourage.  Your  position  here,  you  see, 
is  a  rather  peculiar  one.  You  were  saying, 
I  think,  that  a  lingering  affection  for  your 
wife  impelled  you  to  keep  this  place  for  her, 
although  you  were  convinced  of  her  death?  " 

Collinson's  unaffected  delight  in  Chivers's 
kindliness  had  made  his  eyes  shine  in  the 
moonlight  with  a  doglike  wistfulness.  "  I 
reckon  I  did  say  that,  Mr.  Chivers,"  he  said 
apologetically,  "  though  it  ain't  goin'  to  in 
terfere  with  you  usin'  the  shanty  jest  now." 

" 1  was  n't  alluding  to  that,  Collinson," 
returned  Chivers,  with  a  large  rhetorical 
wave  of  the  hand,  and  an  equal  enjoyment 
in  his  companion's  evident  admiration  of 
him,  "  but  it  struck  me  that  your  remark, 
nevertheless,  implied  some  doubt  of  your 
wife's  death,  and  I  don't  know  but  that  your 
doubts  are  right." 

"Wot's  that?"  said  Collinson,  with  a 
dull  glow  in  his  face. 

Chivers  blew  the  smoke  of  his  cigar  lazily 
in  the  still  air.  "  Listen,"  he  said.  "  Since 


J.V  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.      165 

your  miraculous  conversion  a  few  moments 
ago,  I  have  made  some  friendly  inquiries 
about  you,  and  I  find  that  you  lost  all  trace 
of  your  wife  in  Texas  in  '52,  where  a  num 
ber  of  her  fellow  emigrants  died  of  yellow 
fever.  Is  that  so?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Collinson  quickly. 

"  "Well,  it  so  happens  that  a  friend  of 
mine,"  continued  Chivers  slowly,  "  was  in  a 
train  which  followed  that  one,  and  picked  up 
and  brought  on  some  of  the  survivors." 

"  That  was  the  train  wot  brought  the 
news,"  said  Collinson,  relapsing  into  his  old 
patience.  "  That 's  how  I  knowed  she 
had  n't  come." 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  the  names  of  any  of 
its  passengers?  "  said  Chivers,  with  a  keen 
glance  at  his  companion. 

"  Nary  one  !  I  only  got  to  know  it  was 
a  small  train  of  only  two  wagons,  and  it 
sorter  melted  into  Californy  through  a 
southern  pass,  and  kinder  petered  out,  and 
no  one  ever  heard  of  it  agin,  and  that  was 
all." 

"  That  was  not  all,  Collinson,"  said  Chi 
vers  lazily.  "/  saw  the  train  arrive  at 
South  Pass.  I  was  awaiting  a  friend  and 


166       IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

his  wife.  There  was  a  lady  with  them,  one 
of  the  survivors.  I  did  n't  hear  her  name, 
but  I  think  my  friend's  wife  called  her 
4  Sadie.'  I  remember  her  as  a  rather  pretty 
woman  —  tall,  fair,  with  a  straight  nose  and 
a  full  chin,  and  small  slim  feet.  I  saw  her 
only  a  moment,  for  she  was  on  her  way  to 
Los  Angeles,  and  was,  I  believe,  going  to 
join  her  husband  somewhere  in  the  Sierras." 

The  rascal  had  been  enjoying  with  intense 
satisfaction  the  return  of  the  dull  glow  in 
Collinson's  face,  that  even  seemed  to  animate 
the  whole  length  of  his  angular  frame  as  it 
turned  eagerly  towards  him.  So  he  went  on, 
experiencing  a  devilish  zest  in  this  descrip 
tion  of  his  mistress  to  her  husband,  apart 
from  the  pleasure  of  noting  the  slow  awak 
ening  of  this  apathetic  giant,  with  a  sensa 
tion  akin  to  having  warmed  him  into  life. 
Yet  his  triumph  was  of  short  duration.  The 
fire  dropped  suddenly  out  of  Collinson's 
eyes,  the  glow  from  his  face,  and  the  dull 
look  of  unwearied  patience  returned. 

"  That 's  all  very  kind  and  purty  of  yer, 
Mr.  Chivers,"  he  said  gravely ;  "  you  've 
got  all  my  wife's  pints  thar  to  a  dot,  and  it 
seems  to  fit  her  jest  like  a  shoe  I  picked  up 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.       167 

t'  other  day.  But  it  was  n't  my  Sadie,  for 
ef  she  's  living  or  had  lived,  she  'd  bin  just 
yere !  " 

The  same  fear  and  recognition  of  some 
unknown  reserve  in  this  trustful  man  came 
over  drivers  as  before.  In  his  angry  re 
sentment  of  it  he  would  have  liked  to  blurt 
out  the  infidelity  of  the  wife  before  her  hus 
band,  but  he  knew  Collinson  would  not  be 
lieve  him,  and  he  had  another  purpose  now. 
His  full  lips  twisted  into  a  suave  smile. 

"  While  I  would  not  give  you  false  hopes, 
Mr.  Collinson,"  he  said,  with  a  bland  smile, 
"  my  interest  in  you  compels  me  to  say  that 
you  may  be  over  confident  and  wrong. 
There  are  a  thousand  things  that  may  have 
prevented  your  wife  from  coming  to  you,  - 
illness,  possibly  the  result  of  her  exposure, 
poverty,  misapprehension  of  your  place  of 
meeting,  and,  above  all,  perhaps  some  false 
report  of  your  own  death.  Has  it  ever 
occurred  to  you  that  it  is  as  possible  for  her 
to  have  been  deceived  in  that  way  as  for 
you  ?  " 

44  Wot  yersay?"   said  Collinson,   with  a 
vague  suspicion. 

"  What  I  mean.     You  think  yourself  jus- 


168      IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

tified  in  believing  your  wife  dead,  because 
she  did  not  seek  you  here  ;  may  she  not  feel 
herself  equally  justified  in  believing  the  same 
of  you,  because  you  had  not  sought  her  else 
where  ?  " 

"  But  it  was  writ  that  she  was  comin'  yere, 
and  —  I  boarded  every  train  that  come  in 
that  fall, "  said  Collinson,  with  a  new  irri 
tation,  unlike  his  usual  calm. 

"  Except  one,  my  dear  Collinson,  —  ex 
cept  one,"  returned  Chivers,  holding  up  a 
fat  forefinger  smilingly.  "  And  that  may 
be  the  clue.  Now,  listen  !  There  is  still  a 
chance  of  following  it,  if  you  will.  The  name 
of  my  friends  were  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Barker. 
I  regret, "  he  added,  with  a  perfunctory 
cough,  "  that  poor  Barker  is  dead.  He  was 
not  such  an  exemplary  husband  as  you  are, 
my  dear  Collinson,  and  I  fear  was  not  all 
that  Mrs.  Barker  could  have  wished  ;  enough 
that  he  succumbed  from  various  excesses,  and 
did  not  leave  me  Mrs.  Barker's  present  ad 
dress.  But  she  has  a  young  friend,  a  ward, 
living  at  the  convent  of  Santa  Luisa,  whose 
name  is  Miss  Rivers,  who  can  put  you  in 
communication  with  her.  Now,  one  thing 
more :  I  can  understand  your  feelings,  and 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.       169 

that  you  would  wish  at  once  to  satisfy  youi 
mind.  It  is  not,  perhaps,  to  my  interest  nor 
the  interest  of  my  party  to  advise  you,  but, " 
he  continued,  glancing  around  him,  "you 
have  an  admirably  secluded  position  here,  on 
the  edge  of  the  trail,  and  if  you  are  missing 
from  your  post  to-morrow  morning,  I  shall 
respect  your  feelings,  trust  to  your  honor 
to  keep  this  secret,  and — consider  it  useless 
to  pursue  you  !  " 

There  was  neither  shame  nor  pity  in  his 
heart,  as  the  deceived  man  turned  towards 
him  with  tremulous  eagerness,  and  grasped 
his  hand  in  silent  gratitude.  But  the  old 
rage  and  fear  returned,  as  Collinson  said 
gravely :  — 

"You  kinder  put  a  new  life  inter  me,  Mr. 
Chivers,  and  I  wish  I  had  yer  gift  o'  speech 
to  tell  ye  so.  But  I  've  passed  my  word  to 
the  Capting  thar  and  to  the  rest  o'  you  folks 
that  I  'd  stand  guard  out  yere,  and  I  don't 
go  back  o'  my  word.  I  mout,  and  I  mout  n't 
find  my  Sadie ;  but  she  would  n't  think  the 
less  o'  me,  arter  these  years  o'  waitin',  ef 
I  stayed  here  another  night,  to  guard  the 
house  I  keep  in  trust  for  her,  and  the  stran 
gers  I  've  took  in  on  her  account." 


170      IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

"  As  you  like,  then,  "  said  Chivers,  con 
tracting  his  lips,  "  but  keep  your  own  coun 
sel  to-night.  There  may  be  those  who  would 
like  to  deter  you  from  your  search.  And 
now  I  will  leave  you  alone  in  this  delight 
ful  moonlight.  I  quite  envy  you  your  un 
restricted  communion  with  Nature.  Adios, 
ami  go,  adios  !  " 

He  leaped  lightly  on  a  large  rock  that 
overhung  the  edge  of  the  grade,  and  waved 
his  hand. 

"  I  would  n't  do  that,  Mr.  Chivers,"  said 
Collinson,  with  a  concerned  face ;  "  them 
rocks  are  mighty  ticklish,  and  that  one  in 
partiklar.  A  tech  sometimes  sends  'em 
scooting." 

Mr.  Chivers  leaped  quickly  to  the  ground, 
turned,  waved  his  hand  again,  and  disap 
peared  down  the  grade. 

But  Collinson  was  no  longer  alone.  Hith 
erto  his  characteristic  reverie*  had  been  of 
the  past,  —  reminiscences  in  which  there  was 
only  recollection,  no  imagination,  and  very 
little  hope.  Under  the  spell  of  Chivers's 
words  his  fancy  seemed  to  expand ;  he  began 
to  think  of  his  wife  as  she  might  be  now,  — 
perhaps  ill,  despairing,  wandering  hopelessly, 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.      171 

even  ragged  and  footsore,  or  —  believing  him 
dead  —  relapsing  into  the  resigned  patience 
that  had  been  his  own ;  but  always  a  new 
Sadie,  whom  he  had  never  seen  or  known  be 
fore.  A  faint  dread,  the  lightest  of  misgiv 
ings  (perhaps  coming  from  his  very  igno 
rance),  for  the  first  time  touched  his  steadfast 
heart,  and  sent  a  chill  through  it.  He  shoul 
dered  his  weapon,  and  walked  briskly  towards 
the  edge  of  the  thick-set  woods.  There  were 
the  fragrant  essences  of  the  laurel  and 
spruce — baked  in  the  long-day  sunshine  that 
had  encompassed  their  recesses — still  coming 
warm  to  his  face  ;  there  were  the  strange 
shiftings  of  temperature  throughout  the 
openings,  that  alternately  warmed  and  chilled 
him  as  he  walked.  It  seemed  so  odd  that 
he  should  nowr  have  to  seek  her  instead 
of  her  coming  to  him  ;  it  would  never  be 
the  same  meeting  to  him,  away  from 
the  house  that  he  had  built  for  her  !  He 
strolled  back,  and  looked  down  upon  it,  nes 
tling  on  the  ledge.  The  white  moonlight 
that  lay  upon  it  dulled  the  glitter  of  lights  in 
its  windows,  but  the  sounds  of  laughter  and 
singing  came  to  even  his  unf  astidious  ears  with 
a  sense  of  vague  discord.  He  walked  back 


172      IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

again,  and  began  to  pace  before  the  thick-set 
wood.     Suddenly  he  stopped  and  listened. 

To  any  other  ears  but  those  accustomed 
to  mountain  solitude  it  would  have  seemed 
nothing.  But,  familiar  as  he  was  with  all 
the  infinite  disturbances  of  the  woodland, 
and  even  the  simulation  of  intrusion  caused 
by  a  falling  branch  or  lapsing  pine-cone,  he 
was  arrested  now  by  a  recurring  sound,  un 
like  any  other.  It  was  an  occasional  muffled 
beat  —  interrupted  at  uncertain  intervals, 
but  always  returning  in  regular  rhythm, 
whenever  it  was  audible.  He  knew  it  was 
made  by  a  cantering  horse ;  that  the  inter 
vals  were  due  to  the  patches  of  dead  leaves 
in  its  course,  and  that  the  varying  move 
ment  was  the  effect  of  its  progress  through 
obstacles  and  underbrush.  It  was  there 
fore  coming  through  some  "  blind "  cut-off 
in  the  thick-set  wood.  The  shifting  of  the 
sound  also  showed  that  the  rider  was  unfa 
miliar  with  the  locality,  and  sometimes  wan 
dered  from  the  direct  course  ;  but  the  unfail 
ing  and  accelerating  persistency  of  the  sound, 
in  spite  of  these  difficulties,  indicated  haste 
and  determination. 

He    swung   his   gun    from   his    shoulder, 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.      173 

and  examined  its  caps.  As  the  sound  came 
nearer,  he  drew  up  beside  a  young  spruce 
at  the  entrance  of  the  thicket.  There  was 
no  necessity  to  alarm  the  house,  or  call  the 
other  sentry.  It  was  a  single  horse  and  rider, 
and  he  was  equal  to  that.  He  waited  quietly, 
and  with  his  usual  fateful  patience.  Even 
then  his  thoughts  still  reverted  to  his  wife ; 
and  it  was  with  a  singular  feeling  that  he,  at 
last,  saw  the  thick  underbrush  give  way  before 
a  woman,  mounted  on  a  sweating  but  still 
spirited  horse,  who  swept  out  into  the  open. 
Nevertheless,  he  stopped  in  front  of  her,  and 
called :  — 

«  Hold  up  thar  !  " 

The  horse  recoiled,  nearly  unseating  her. 
Collinson  caught  the  reins.  She  lifted  her 
whip  mechanically,  yet  remained  holding  it 
in  the  air,  trembling,  until  she  slipped,  half 
struggling,  half  helplessly,  from  the  saddle 
to  the  ground.  Here  she  would  have  again 
fallen,  but  Collinson  caught  her  sharply  by 
the  waist.  At  his  touch  she  started  and  ut 
tered  a  frightened  "  No !  "  At  her  voice 
Collinson  started. 

"  Sadie  !  "  he  gasped. 

"  Seth !  "  she  half  whispered. 


174        IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

They  stood  looking  at  each  other.  But 
Collinson  was  already  himself  again.  The 
man  of  simple  directness  and  no  imagina 
tion  saw  only  his  wife  before  him  —  a  little 
breathless,  a  little  flurried,  a  little  dishev 
eled  from  rapid  riding,  as  he  had  sometimes 
seen  her  before,  but  otherwise  unchanged. 
Nor  had  he  changed  ;  he  took  her  up  where 
he  had  left  her  years  ago.  His  grave  face 
only  broadened  into  a  smile,  as  he  held  both 
her  hands  in  his. 

"  Yes,  it 's  me  —  Lordy  !  Why,  I  was 
comin'  only  to-morrow  to  find  ye,  Sade !  " 

She  glanced  hurriedly  around  her.  "  To 
—  to  find  me,"  she  said  incredulously. 

"  Sartain !  That  ez,  I  was  goin'  to  ask 
about  ye,  —  goin'  to  ask  about  ye  at  the  con 
vent." 

"  At  the  convent  ?  "  she  echoed  with  a 
frightened  amazement. 

"  Yes,  why,  Lordy !  Sade  —  don't  you  see  ? 
You  thought  I  was  dead,  and  I  thought  you 
was  dead,  —  that 's  what 's  the  matter.  But 
I  never  reckoned  that  you  'd  think  me  dead 
until  Chivers  allowed  that  it  must  be  so." 

Her  face  whitened  in  the  moonlight. 
"  Chivers  ?  "  she  said  blankly. 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.      175 

"  In  course ;  but  nat'rally  you  don't  know 
him,  honey.  He  only  saw  you  onc't.  But 
it  was  along  o'  that,  Sade,  that  he  told  me 
he  reckoned  you  wasn't  dead,  and  told  me 
how  to  find  you.  He  was  mighty  kind  and 
consarned  about  it,  and  he  even  allowed  I  'd 
better  slip  off  to  you  this  very  night." 

"  Chivers,"  she  repeated,  gazing  at  her 
husband  with  bloodless  lips. 

"  Yes,  an  awful  purty-spoken  man.  Ye  '11 
have  to  get  to  know  him,  Sade.  He  's  here 
with  some  of  his  folks  az  hez  got  inter  trou 
ble  —  I  'm  forgettin'  to  tell  ye.  You  see  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  yes  !  "  she  interrupted  hyster 
ically  ;  "  and  this  is  the  Mill  ?  " 

"  Yes,  lovey,  the  Mill  —  my  mill  —  your 
mill  —  the  house  I  built  for  you,  dear.  I  'd 
show  it  to  you  now,  but  you  see,  Sade, 
I'm  out  here  standin'  guard." 

"  Are  you  one  of  them  ? "  she  said, 
clutching  his  hand  desperately. 

"No,  dear,"  he  said  soothingly,  —  "no; 
only,  you  see,  I  giv'  my  word  to  'em  as  I 
giv'  my  house  to-night,  and  I  'm  bound  to 
protect  them  and  see  'em  through.  Why, 
Lordy!  Sade,  you'd  have  done  the  same 
—  for  Chivers." 


176      IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  she  said,  beating  her  hands 
together  strangely,  "  of  course.  He  was  so 
kind  to  bring  me  back  to  you.  And  you 
might  have  never  found  me  but  for  him." 

She  burst  into  an  hysterical  laugh,  which 
the  simple-minded  man  might  have  over 
looked  but  for  the  tears  that  coursed  down 
her  bloodless  face. 

"  What 's  gone  o'  ye,  Sadie,"  he  said  in  a 
sudden  fear,  grasping  her  hands ;  "  that 
laugh  ain't  your'n  —  that  voice  ain't  your'n. 
You  're  the  old  Sadie,  ain't  ye  ? "  He 
stopped.  For  a  moment  his  face  blanched 
as  he  glanced  towards  the  mill,  from  which 
the  faint  sound  of  bacchanalian  voices  came 
to  his  quick  ear.  "  Sadie,  dear,  ye  ain't 
thinkin'  anything  agin'  me?  Ye  ain't  al- 
lowin'  I  'm  keeping  anythin'  back  from  ye  ?  " 

Her  face  stiffened  into  rigidity;  she 
dashed  the  tears  from  her  eyes.  "  No,"  she 
said  quickly.  Then  after  a  moment  she 
added,  with  a  faint  laugh,  "You  see  we 
have  n't  seen  each  other  for  so  long  —  it 's 
all  so  sudden —  so  unexpected." 

"  But  you  kem  here,  just  now,  calkilatin' 
to  find  me  ?  "  said  Collinson  gravely. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  she  said  quickly,  still  grasp- 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.      177 

ing  both  his  hands,  but  with  her  head 
slightly  turned  in  the  direction  of  the  mill. 

"  But  who  told  ye  where  to  find  the  mill  ?  " 
he  said,  with  gentle  patience. 

"  A  friend,"  she  said  hurriedly.  "  Per 
haps,"  she  added,  with  a  singular  smile,  "  a 
friend  of  the  friend  who  told  you." 

"  I  see,"  said  Collinson,  with  a  relieved 
face  and  a  broadening  smile,  "  it 's  a  sort  of 
fairy  story.  I  '11  bet,  now,  it  was  that  old 
Barker  woman  that  Chivers  knows." 

Her  teeth  gleamed  rigidly  together  in  the 
moonlight,  like  a  death's-head.  "  Yes,"  she 
said  dryly,  "  it  was  that  old  Barker  woman. 
Say,  Seth,"  she  continued,  moistening  her 
lips  slowly,  "  you  're  guarding  this  place 
alone  ?  " 

"  Thar  's  another  feller  up  the  trail,  —  a 
sentry,  —  but  don't  you  be  af eard,  he  can't 
hear  us,  Sade." 

"  On  this  side  of  the  mill  ?  " 

"  Yes !  Why,  Lord  love  ye,  Sadie ! 
t'  other  side  o'  the  mill  it  drops  down  straight 
to  the  valley ;  nobody  comes  yer  that  way 
but  poor  low-down  emigrants.  And  it 's 
miles  round  to  come  by  the  valley  from  the 
summit." 


178      IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

"  You  did  n't  hear  your  friend  drivers 
say  that  the  sheriff  was  out  with  his  posse 
to-night  hunting  them  ?  " 

"  No.     Did  you  ?  " 

"  I  think  I  heard  something  of  that  kind 
at  Skinner's,  but  it  may  have  been  only  a 
warning  to  me,  traveling  alone." 

"  Thet  's  so,"  said  Collinson,  with  a  ten 
der  solicitude,  "  but  none  o'  these  yer  road- 
agents  would  have  teched  a  woman.  And 
this  yer  Chivers  ain't  the  man  to  insult  one, 
either." 

"  No,"  she  said,  with  a  return  of  her  hys 
teric  laugh.  But  it  was  overlooked  by  Col 
linson,  who  was  taking  his  gun  from  beside 
the  tree  where  he  had  placed  it.  "  Where 
are  you  going  ?  "  she  said  suddenly. 

"  I  reckon  them  fellers  ought  to  be 
warned  o'  what  you  heard.  I'll  be  back 
in  a  minit." 

"  And  you  're  going  to  leave  me  now  — 
when  —  when    we  've   only   just   met  after 
these  years,"  she  said,  with  a  faint  attempt 
at  a  smile,  which,   however,  did  not  reach 
the  cold  glitter  of  her  eyes. 

"  Just  for  a  little,  honey.  Besides,  don't 
you  see,  I  've  got  to  get  excused ;  for  we  '11 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.      179 

have  to  go  off  to  Skinner's  or  somewhere, 
Sadie,  for  we  can't  stay  in  thar  along  o' 
them." 

"  So  you  and  your  wife  are  turned  out  of 
your  home  to  please  Chivers,"  she  said,  still 
smiling. 

"  That 's  whar  you  slip  up,  Sadie,"  said 
Collinson,  with  a  troubled  face ;  "  for  he 's 
that  kind  of  a  man  thet  if  I  jest  as  much 
as  hinted  you  was  here,  he  'd  turn  'em  all 
out  o'  the  house  for  a  lady.  Thet 's  why  I 
don't  propose  to  let  on  anything  about  you 
till  to-morrow." 

"  To-morrow  will  do,"  she  said,  still  smil 
ing,  but  with  a  singular  abstraction  in  her 
face.  "  Pray  don't  disturb  them  now.  You 
say  there  is  another  sentinel  beyond.  He  is 
enough  to  warn  them  of  any  approach  from 
the  trail.  I  'm  tired  and  ill  —  very  ill ! 
Sit  by  me  here,  Seth,  and  wait !  We  can 
wait  here  together  —  we  have  waited  so 
long,  Seth,  —  and  the  end  has  come  now." 

She  suddenly  lapsed  against  the  tree,  and 
slipped  in  a  sitting  posture  to  the  ground. 
Collinson  cast  himself  at  her  side,  and  put 
his  arm  round  her, 

"  Wot  'a  gone  q'  ye,  Sade?     You  're  cold 


180      IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS, 

and  sick.  Listen.  Your  hoss  is  just  over 
thar  feedin'.  I  '11  put  you  back  on  him,  run 
in  and  tell  'em  I  'm  off,  and  be  with  ye  in  a 
jiffy,  and  take  ye  back  to  Skinner's." 

"  Wait,  "  she  said  softly.     "  Wait." 

"  Or  to  the  Silver  Hollow  —  it 's  not  so 
far." 

She  had  caught  his  hands  again,  her  rigid 
face  close  to  his.  "  What  hollow  ? — speak !  " 
she  said  breathlessly. 

"  The  hollow  whar  a  friend  o'  mine  struck 
silver.  He  '11  take  yur  in." 

Her  head  sank  against  his  shoulder. 
"  Let  me  stay  here,"  she  answered,  "  and 
wait." 

He  supported  her  tenderly,  feeling  the 
gentle  brushing  of  her  hair  against  his  cheek 
as  in  the  old  days.  He  was  content  to  wait, 
holding  her  thus.  They  were  very  silent ; 
her  eyes  half  closed,  as  if  in  exhaustion,  yet 
with  the  strange  suggestion  of  listening  in 
the  vacant  pupils. 

"  Ye  ain't  hearin'  anythin',  deary  ?  "  he 
said,  with  a  troubled  face. 

"  No ;  but  everything  is  so  deathly  still," 
she  said  in  a  frightened  whisper. 

It  certainly  was  very  still.  A  singular  hush 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.      181 

seemed  to  have  slid  over  the  landscape  ;  there 
was  no  longer  any  sound  from  the  mill ;  there 
was  an  ominous  rest  in  the  woodland,  so  per 
fect  that  the  tiny  rustle  of  an  uneasy  wing 
in  the  tree  above  them  had  made  them  start ; 
even  the  moonlight  seemed  to  hang  sus 
pended  in  the  air. 

"•It 's  like  the  lull  before  the  storm,"  she 
said  with  her  strange  laugh. 

But  the  non-imaginative  Collinson  was 
more  practical.  "It's  mighty  like  that 
earthquake  weather  before  the  big  shake 
thet  dried  up  the  river  and  stopped  the  mill. 
That  was  just  the  time  I  got  the  news  o'  your 
beiii'  dead  with  yellow  fever.  Lord !  honey, 
I  allus  allowed  to  myself  thet  suthin'  was 
happenin'  to  ye  then." 

She  did  not  reply ;  but  he,  holding  her 
figure  closer  to  him,  felt  it  trembling  with  a 
nervous  expectation.  Suddenly  she  threw 
him  off,  and  rose  to  her  feet  with  a  cry. 
"  There  !  "  she  screamed  frantically,  "  they  've 
come  !  they  've  come  !  " 

A  rabbit  had  run  out  into  the  moonlight 
before  them,  a  gray  fox  had  dashed  from  the 
thicket  into  the  wood,  but  nothing  else. 

"  Who 's  come  ?  "  said  Collinson,  staring 
at  her. 


182      IN  A   HOLLOW   OF   THE  HILLS. 

"  The  sheriff  and  his  posse  !  They  're 
surrounding  them  now.  Don't  you  hear  ?  *' 
she  gasped. 

There  was  a  strange  rattling  in  the  direc 
tion  of  the  mill,  a  dull  rumble,  with  wild 
shouts  and  outcries,  and  the  trampling  of 
feet  on  its  wooden  platform.  Collinson 
staggered  to  his  feet ;  but  at  the  same  mo 
ment  he  was  thrown  violently  against  his 
wife,  and  they  both  clung  helplessly  to  the 
tree,  with  their  eyes  turned  toward  the  ledge. 
There  was  a  dense  cloud  of  dust  and  haze 
hanging  over  it. 

She  uttered  another  cry,  and  ran  swiftly 
towards  the  rocky  grade.  Collinson  ran 
quickly  after  her,  but  as  she  reached  the 
grade  he  suddenly  shouted,  with  an  awful 
revelation  in  his  voice,  "  Come  back ! 
Stop,  Sadie,  for  God's  sake  !  "  But  it  was 
too  late.  She  had  already  disappeared ;  and 
as  he  reached  the  rock  on  which  Chivers  had 
leaped,  he  felt  it  give  way  beneath  him. 

But  there  was  no  sound,  only  a  rush  of 
wind  from  the  valley  below.  Everything 
lapsed  again  into  its  awful  stillness.  As  the 
cloud  lifted  from  where  the  mill  had  stood, 
the  moon  shone  only  upon  empty  space. 


1^  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.      183 

There  was  a  singular  murmuring  and  whis 
pering  from  the  woods  beyond  that  increased 
in  sound,  and  an  hour  later  the  dry  bed  of  the 
old  mill-stream  was  filled  with  a  rushing  river. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

PREBLE  KEY  returned  to  his  hotel  from 
the  convent,  it  is  to  be  feared,  with  very 
little  of  that  righteous  satisfaction  which  is 
supposed  to  follow  the  performance  of  a 
good  deed,  He  was  by  no  means  certain 
that  what  he  had  done  was  best  for  the 
young  girl.  He  had  only  shown  himself  to 
her  as  a  worldly  monitor  of  dangers,  of 
which  her  innocence  was  providentially  un 
conscious.  In  his  feverish  haste  to  avert  a 
scandal,  he  had  no  chance  to  explain  his  real 
feelings  ;  he  had,  perhaps,  even  exposed  her 
thwarted  impulses  to  equally  nai've  but  more 
dangerous  expression,  which  he  might  not 
have  the  opportunity  to  check.  He  tossed 
wakefully  that  night  upon  his  pillow,  tor 
mented  with  alternate  visions  of  her  ador 
able  presence  at  the  hotel,  and  her  bowed, 
renunciating  figure  as  she  reentered  the 
convent  gate.  He  waited  expectantly  the 
next  day  for  the  message  she  had  promised, 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.      185 

and  which  he  believed  she  would  find  some 
way  to  send.  But  110  message  was  forth 
coming.  The  day  passed,  and  he  became 
alarmed.  The  fear  that  her  escapade  had 
been  discovered  again  seized  him.  •  If  she 
were  in  close  restraint,  she  could  neither  send 
to  him,  nor  could  he  convey  to  her  the  so 
licitude  and  sympathy  that  filled  his  heart. 
In  her  childish  frankness  she  might  have 
confessed  the  whole  truth,  and  this  would 
not  only  shut  the  doors  of  the  convent 
against  him,  under  his  former  pretext,  but 
compromise  her  still  more  if  he  boldly 
called.  He  waylaid  the  afternoon  proces 
sion  ;  she  was  not  among  them.  Utterly 
despairing,  the  wildest  plans  for  seeing  her 
passed  through  his  brain,  —  plans  that  re 
called  his  hot-headed  youth,  and  a  few 
moments  later  made  him  smile  at  his  ex 
travagance,  even  while  it  half  frightened  him 
at  the  reality  of  his  passion.  He  reached 
the  hotel  heart-sick  and  desperate.  The 
porter  met  him  on  the  steps.  It  was  with  a 
thrill  that  sent  the  blood  leaping  to  his 
cheeks  that  he  heard  the  man  say :  — 

"  Sister  Seraphina  is  waiting  for  you  in 
the  sitting-room." 


186      IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

There  was  no  thought  of  discovery  or 
scandal  in  Preble  Key's  mind  now  ;  no  doubt 
or  hesitation  as  to  what  he  would  do,  as  he 
sprang  up  the  staircase.  He  only  knew 
that  he  had  found  her  again,  and  was 
happy !  He  burst  into  the  room,  but  this 
time  remembered  to  shut  the  door  behind 
him.  He  looked  eagerly  towards  the  win 
dow  where  she  had  stood  the  day  before, 
but  now  she  rose  quickly  from  the  sofa  in 
the  corner,  where  she  had  been  seated,  and 
the  missal  she  had  been  reading  rolled  from 
her  lap  to  the  floor.  He  ran  towards  her  to 
pick  it  up.  Her  name  —  the  name  she  had 
told  him  to  call  her  —  was  passionately 
trembling  on  his  lips,  when  she  slowly  put 
her  veil  aside,  and  displayed  a  pale,  kindly, 
middle-aged  face,  slightly  marked  by  old 
scars  of  smallpox.  It  was  not  Alice;  it 
was  the  real  Sister  Seraphina  who  stood 
before  him. 

His  first  revulsion  of  bitter  disappoint 
ment  was  so  quickly  followed  by  a  realiza 
tion  that  all  had  been  discovered,  and  his 
sacrifice  of  yesterday  had  gone  for  naught, 
that  he  stood  before  her,  stammering,  but 
without  the  power  to  say  a  word.  Luckily 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.      187 

for  him,  his  utter  embarrassment  seemed  to 
reassure  her,  and  to  calm  that  timidity 
which  his  brusque  man-like  irruption  might 
well  produce  in  the  inexperienced,  contem 
plative  mind  of  the  recluse.  Her  voice  was 
very  sweet,  albeit  sad,  as  she  said  gently :  — 

"  I  am  afraid  I  have  taken  you  by  sur 
prise  ;  but  there  was  no  time  to  arrange  for 
a  meeting,  and  the  Lady  Superior  thought 
that  I,  who  knew  all  the  facts,  had  better 
see  you  confidentially.  Father  Cipriano 
gave  us  your  address." 

Amazed  and  wondering,  Key  bowed  her 
to  a  seat. 

"  You  will  remember,"  she  went  on  softly, 
"  that  the  Lady  Superior  failed  to  get  any 
information  from  you  regarding  the  brother 
of  one  of  our  dear  children,  whom  he  com 
mitted  to  our  charge  through  a  —  a  com 
panion  or  acquaintance  —  a  Mrs.  Barker. 
As  she  was  armed  with  his  authority  by 
letter,  we  accepted  the  dear  child  through 
her,  permitted  her  as  his  representative  to 
have  free  access  to  his  sister,  and  even 
allowed  her,  as  an  unattended  woman,  to 
pass  the  night  at  the  convent.  We  were 
therefore  surprised  this  morning  to  receive  a 


188  IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 
letter  from  him,  absolutely  forbidding  any 
further  intercourse,  correspondence,  or  asso 
ciation  of  his  sister  with  this  companion, 
Mrs.  Barker.  It  was  necessary  to  inform 
the  dear  child  of  this  at  once,  as  she  was  on 
the  point  of  writing  to  this  woman ;  but  we 
were  pained  and  shocked  at  her  reception  of 
her  brother's  wishes.  I  ought  to  say,  in 
justic%  to  the  dear  child,  that  while  she  is 
usually  docile,  intelligent,  and  tractable  to 
discipline,  and  a  devote  in  her  religious 
feelings,  she  is  singularly  impulsive.  But 
we  were  not  prepared  for  the  rash  and 
sudden  step  she  has  taken.  At  noon  to-day 
she  escaped  from  the  convent !  " 

Key,  who  had  been  following  her  with  re 
lief,  sprang  to  his  feet  at  this  unexpected 
culmination. 

"  Escaped !  "  he  said.  "  Impossible  !  I 
mean,"  he  added,  hurriedly  recalling  him 
self,  "your  rules,  your  discipline,  your  at 
tendants  are  so  perfect." 

"  The  poor  impulsive  creature  has  added 
sacrilege  to  her  madness  —  a  sacrilege  we 
are  willing  to  believe  she  did  not  under 
stand,  for  she  escaped  in  a  religious  habit  — 
my  own." 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.       189 

"  But  this  would  sufficiently  identify  her," 
he  said,  controlling  himself  with  an  effort. 

"  Alas,  not  so  !     There  are  many  of  us 
who  go  abroad  on  our  missions  in  these  gar 
ments,  and  they  are  made  all  alike,  so  as  to 
divert  rather  than  attract  attention  to  any 
individuality.     We  have  sent  private  mes 
sengers    in    all    directions,  and    sought  her 
everywhere,  but  without  success.     You  will 
understand  that  we  wish  to  avoid  scandal, 
which  a  more  public  inquiry  would  create." 
"  And  you  come  to  me,"  said  Key,  with  a 
return  of  his  first  suspicion,  in  spite  of  his 
eagerness  to  cut  short  the  interview  and  be 
free  to  act,  —  "to  me,  almost  a  stranger  ? " 
"  Not  a  stranger,  Mr.  Key,"  returned  the 
religieuse   gently,    "  but   to    a    well-known 
man  —  a  man  of  affairs  in  the  country  where 
this  unhappy  child's  brother  li ves  —  a  friend 
who  seems  to  be  sent  by  Heaven  to  find  out 
this  brother  for  us,  and  speed  this  news  to 
him.     We  come  to  the  old  pupil  of  Father 
Cipriano,  a  friend  of  the  Holy  Church  ;  to 
the  kindly  gentleman  who  knows  what  it  is 
to  have  dear  relations  of  his  own,  and  who 
only   yesterday   was   seeking    the    convent 
to  "  — 


190      IN   A   HOLLOW   OF   THE  HILLS. 

"  Enough  !  "  interrupted  Key  hurriedly, 
with  a  slight  color.  "  I  will  go  at  once.  I 
do  not  know  this  man,  but  I  will  do  my  best 
to  find  him.  And  this  —  this  —  young  girl  ? 
You  say  you  have  no  trace  of  her  ?  May  she 
not  still  be  here  ?  I  should  have  some  clue 
by  which  to  seek  her  —  I  mean  that  I  could 
give  to  her  brother." 

"  Alas  !  we  fear  she  is  already  far  away 
from  here.  If  she  went  at  once  to  San  Luis, 
she  could  have  easily  taken  a  train  to  San 
Francisco  before  we  discovered  her  flight. 
We  believe  that  it  was  the  poor  child's  in 
tent  to  join  her  brother,  so  as  to  intercede 
for  her  friend  —  or,  perhaps,  alas !  to  seek 
her." 

"  And  this  friend  left  yesterday  morn 
ing  ?  "  he  said  quickly,  yet  concealing  a  feel 
ing  of  relief.  "  Well,  you  may  depend  on 
me !  And  now,  as  there  is  no  time  to  be 
lost,  I  will  make  my  arrangements  to  take 
the  next  train."  He  held  out  his  hand, 
paused,  and  said  in  almost  boyish  embar 
rassment  :  "  Bid  me  God  speed,  Sister  Sera- 
phina ! " 

"  May  the  Holy  Virgin  aid  you,"  she 
said  gently.  Yet,  as  she  passed  out  of  the 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.      191 

door,  with  a  grateful  smile,  a  characteristic 
reaction  came  over  Key.  His»  romantic  be 
lief  in  the  interposition  of  Providence  was 
not  without  a  tendency  to  apply  the  ordinary 
rules  of  human  evidence  to  such  phenomena. 
Sister  Seraphina's  application  to  him  seemed 
little  short  of  miraculous  interference ;  But 
what  if  it  were  only  a  trick  to  get  rid  of 
him,  while  the  girl,  whose  escapade  had 
been  discovered,  was  either  under  restraint 
in  the  convent,  or  hiding  in  Santa  Luisa? 
Yet  this  did  not  prevent  him  from  mechani 
cally  continuing  his  arrangements  for  depar 
ture.  When  they  were  completed,  and  he 
had  barely  time  to  get  to  the  station  at  San 
Luis,  he  again  lingered  in  vague  expectation 
of  some  determining  event. 

The  appearance  of  a  servant  with  a  tele 
graphic  message  at  this  moment  seemed  to 
be  an  answer  to  this  instinctive  feeling.  He 
tore  it  open  hastily.  But  it  was  only  a 
single  line  from  his  foreman  at  the  mine, 
which  had  been  repeated  to  him  from  the 
company's  office  in  San  Francisco.  It  read, 
"  Come  at  once  —  important." 

Disappointed  as  it  left  him,  it  determined 
his  action;  and  as  the  train  steamed  out  of 


192      IN  A  HOLLOW  OF   THE  HILLS. 

San  Luis,  it  for  a  while  diverted  his  atten 
tion  from  the  object  of  his  pursuit.  In  any 
event,  his  destination  would  have  been  Skin 
ner's  or  the  Hollow,  as  the  point  from  which 
to  begin  his  search.  He  believed  with  Sister 
Seraphina  that  the  young  girl  would  make 
her  direct  appeal  to  her  brother  ;  but  even 
if  she  sought  Mrs.  Barker,  it  would  still  be 
at  some  of  the  haunts  of  the  gang.  The  let 
ter  to  the  Lady  Superior  had  been  post 
marked  from  "  Bald  Top,"  which  Key  knew 
to  be  an  obscure  settlement  less  frequented 
than  Skinner's.  Even  then  it  was  hardly 
possible  that  the  chief  of  the  road  agents 
would  present  himself  at  the  post-office,  and 
it  had  probably  been  left  by  some  less  known 
of  the  gang.  A  vague  idea,  that  was 
hardly  a  suspicion,  that  the  girl  might  have 
a  secret  address  of  her  brother's,  without 
understanding  the  reasons  for  its  secrecy, 
came  into  his  mind.  A  still  more  vague 

O 

hope,  that  he  might  meet  her  before  she 
found  her  brother,  upheld  him.  It  would  be 
an  accidental  meeting  on  her  part,  for  he  no 
longer  dared  to  hope  that  she  would  seek  or 
trust  him  again.  And  it  was  with  very  little 
of  his  old  sanguine  quality  that,  travel-worn 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.     193 

and  weary,  he  at  last  alighted  at  Skinner's. 
But  his  half  careless  inquiry  if  any  lady 
passengers  had  lately  arrived  there,  to  his 
embarrassment  produced  a  broad  smile  on 
the  face  of  Skinner. 

"  You  're  the  second  man  that  asked  that 
question,  Mr.  Key,"  he  said. 

"  The  second  man  ?  "  ejaculated  Key  ner 
vously. 

"  Yes  ;  the  first  was  the  sheriff  of  Sierra. 
He  wanted  to  find  a  tall,  good-looking 
woman,  about  thirty,  with  black  eyes.  I 
hope  that  ain't  the  kind  o'  girl  you  're  look 
ing  arter  —  is  it  ?  for  I  reckon  she 's  gin 
you  both  the  slip." 

Key  protested  with  a  forced  laugh  that  it 
was  not,  yet  suddenly  hesitated  to  describe 
Alice ;  for  he  instantly  recognized  the 
portrait  of  her  friend,  the  assumed  Mrs. 
Barker.  Skinner  continued  in  lazy  confi 
dence  :  — 

"Ye  see  they  say  that  the  sheriff  had 
sorter  got  the  dead  wood  on  that  gang  o' 
road  agents,  and  had  hemmed  'em  in  some- 
whar  betwixt  Bald  Top  and  Collinson's.  But 
that  woman  was  one  o'  their  spies,  and  spot 
ted  his  little  game,  and  managed  to  give  'em 


194      IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

the  tip,  so  they  got  clean  away.  Anyhow, 
they  ain't  bin  heard  from  since.  But  the 
big  shake  has  made  scoutin'  along  the 
ledges  rather  stiff  work  for  the  sheriff. 
They  say  the  valley  near  Long  Canon 's  chock 
full  o'  rock  and  slumgullion  that 's  slipped 
down." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  the  big  shake  ?  " 
asked  Key  in  surprise. 

"Great  Scott!  you  didn't  hear  of  it? 
Did  n't  hear  of  the  'arthquake  that  shook 
us  up  all  along  Galloper's  the  other  night  ? 
Well,"  he  added  disgustedly,  "  that 's  jist 
the  conceit  of  them  folks  in  the  bay,  that 
can't  allow  that  anytliiii  happens  in  the 
mountains  !  " 

The  urgent  telegrams  of  his  foreman  now 
flashed  across  Key's  preoccupied  mind. 
Possibly  Skinner  saw  his  concern.  "I 
reckon  your  mine  is  all  right,  Mr.  Key. 
One  of  your  men  was  over  yere  last  night, 
and  did  n't  say  nothin'." 

But  this  did  not  satisfy  Key ;  and  in  a 
few  minutes  he  had  mounted  his  horse  and 
was  speeding  towards  the  Hollow,  with  a  re 
morseful  consciousness  of  having  neglected 
his  colleagues'  interests.  For  himself,  in 


IN  A   HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.      195 

the  utter  prepossession  of  his  passion  for 
Alice,  he  cared  nothing.  As  he  dashed 
down  the  slope  to  the  Hollow,  he  thought 
only  of  the  two  momentous  days  that  she 
had  passed  there,  and  the  fate  that  had 
brought  them  so  nearly  together.  There 
was  nothing  to  recall  its  sylvan  beauty  in 
the  hideous  works  that  now  possessed  it,  or 
the  substantial  dwelling-house  that  had  taken 
the  place  of  the  old  cabin.  A  few  hurried 
questions  to  the  foreman  satisfied  him  of  the 
integrity  of  the  property.  There  had  been 
some  alarm  in  the  shaft,  but  there  was  no 
subsidence  of  the  "  seam,"  nor  any  difficulty 
in  the  working.  "  What  I  telegraphed  you 
for,  Mr.  Key,  was  about  something  that  has 
cropped  up  way  back  o'  the  earthquake. 
We  were  served  here  the  other  day  with  a 
legal  notice  of  a  claim  to  the  mine,  on  ac 
count  of  previous  work  done  on  the  ledge 
by  the  last  occupant." 

"  But  the  cabin  was  built  by  a  gang  of 
thieves,  who  used  it  as  a  hoard  for  their 
booty,"  returned  Key  hotly,  "  and  every  one 
of  them  are  outlaws,  and  have  no  standing 
before  the  law."  He  stopped  with  a  pang 
as  he  thought  of  Alice.  And  the  blood 


196      IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

rushed  to  his  cheeks  as  the  foreman  quietly 
continued :  — 

"But  the  claim  ain't  in  any  o'  their 
names.  It 's  allowed  to  be  the  gift  of  their 
leader  to  his  young  sister,  afore  the  out 
lawry,  and  it 's  in  her  name  —  Alice  Riggs 
or  something." 

Of  the  half-dozen  tumultuous  thoughts 
that  passed  through  Key's  mind,  only  one 
remained.  It  was  purely  an  act  of  the  bro 
ther's  to  secure  some  possible  future  benefit 
for  his  sister.  And  of  this  she  was  perfectly 
ignorant!  He  recovered  himself  quickly, 
and  said  with  a  smile  :  — 

"  But  /  discovered  the  ledge  and  its  au 
riferous  character  myself.  There  was  no 
trace  or  sign  of  previous  discovery  or  mining 
occupation." 

"  So  I  jedged,  and  so  I  said,  and  thet  puts 
ye  all  right.  But  I  thought  I  'd  tell  ye  ;  for 
mining  laws  is  mining  laws,  and  it 's  the  one 
thing  ye  can't  get  over,  "  he  added,  with  the 
peculiar  superstitious  reverence  of  the  Cali- 
fornian  miner  for  that  vested  authority. 

But  Key  scarcely  listened.  All  that  he 
had  heard  seemed  only  to  link  him  more  fate- 
fully  and  indissolubly  with  the  young  girl. 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.      197 

He  was  already  impatient  of  even  this  slight 
delay  in  his  quest.  In  his  perplexity  his 
thoughts  had  reverted  to  Collinson's :  the 
mill  was  a  good  point  to  begin  his  search 
from  :  its  good  -  natured,  stupid  proprietor 
might  be  his  guide,  his  ally,  and  even  his 
confidant. 

When  his  horse  was  baited,  he  was  again 
in  the  saddle.  "  If  yer  going  Collinson's 
way,  yer  might  ask  him  if  he 's  lost  a  horse, " 
said  the  foreman.  "  The  morning  after  the 
shake,  some  of  the  boys  picked  up  a  mustang, 
with  a  make-up  la'dy's  saddle  on."  Key 
started !  While  it  was  impossible  that  it 
could  have  been  ridden  by  Alice,  it  might 
have  been  by  the  woman  who  had  preceded 
her. 

"  Did  you  make  any  search  ? "  he  in 
quired  eagerly ;  "  there  may  have  been  an 
accident." 

"  I  reckon  it  wasn't  no  accident,"  returned 
the  foreman  coolly,  "  for  the  riata  was  loose 
and  trailing,  as  if  it  had  been  staked  out,  and 
broken  away." 

Without  another  word.  Key  put  spurs  to 
his  horse  and  galloped  away,  leaving  his  com 
panion  staring  after  him.  Here  was  a  clue  : 


198      IN  A   HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

the  horse  could  not  have  strayed  far  ;  the 
broken  tether  indicated  a  camp ;  the  gang 
had  been  gathered  somewhere  in  the  vicinity 
where  Mrs.  Barker  had  warned  them,  —  per 
haps  in  the  wood  beyond  Collinson's.  He 
would  penetrate  it  alone.  He  knew  his 
danger ;  but  as  a  single  unarmed  man  he 
might  be  admitted  to  the  presence  of  the 
leader,  and  the  alleged  claim  was  a  suffi 
cient  excuse.  What  he  would  say  or  do 
afterwards  depended  upon  chance.  It  was 
a  wild  scheme  —  but  he  was  reckless.  Yet 
he  would  go  to  Collinson's  first. 

At  the  end  of  two  hours  he  reached  the 
thick-set  wood  that  gave  upon  the  shelf  at 
the  top  of  the  grade  which  descended  to  the 
mill.  As  he  emerged  from  the  wood  into 
the  bursting  sunlight  of  the  valley  below, 
he  sharply  reined  in  his  horse  and  stopped. 
Another  bound  would  have  been  his  last. 
For  the  shelf,  the  rocky  grade  itself,  the 
ledge  below,  and  the  mill  upon  it,  were  all 
gone !  The  crumbling  outer  wall  of  the  rocky 
grade  had  slipped  away  into  immeasurable 
depths  below,  leaving  only  the  sharp  edge 
of  a  cliff,  which  incurved  towards  the  woods 
that  had  once  stood  behind  the  mill,  but 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.      199 

which  now  bristled  on  the  very  edge  of  a 
precipice.  A  mist  was  hanging  over  its 
brink  and  rising  from  the  valley ;  it  was  a 
full-fed  stream  that  was  coursing  through  the 
former  dry  bed  of  the  river  and  falling  down 
the  face  of  the  bluff.  He  rubbed  his  eyes, 
dismounted,  crept  along  the  edge  of  the  pre 
cipice,  and  looked  below :  whatever  had  sub 
sided  and  melted  down  into  its  thousand  feet 
of  depth,  there  was  110  trace  left  upon  its 
smooth  face.  Scarcely  an  angle  of  drift  or 
debris  marred  the  perpendicular  ;  the  burial 
of  all  ruin  was  deep  and  compact  ;  the  era 
sure  had  been  swift  and  sure  —  the  oblitera 
tion  complete.  It  might  have  been  the  pre 
cipitation  of  ages,  and  not  of  a  single  night. 
At  that  remote  distance  it  even  seemed  as  if 
grass  were  already  growing  over  this  enor 
mous  sepulchre,  but  it  was  only  the  tops  of 
the  buried  pines.  The  absolute  silence,  the 
utter  absence  of  any  mark  of  convulsive 
struggle,  even  the  lulling  whimper  of  fall 
ing  waters,  gave  the  scene  a  pastoral  re 
pose. 

So  profound  was  the  impression  upon  Key 
and  his  human  passion  that  it  at  first  seemed 
an  ironical  and  eternal  ending  of  his  quest. 


200       IiY  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

It  was  with  difficulty  that  he  reasoned  that 
the  catastrophe  occurred  before  Alice's  flight, 
and  that  even  Collinson  might  have  had  time 
to  escape.  He  slowly  skirted  the  edge  of 
the  chasm,  and  made  his  way  back  through 
the  empty  woods  behind  the  old  mill-site  to 
wards  the  place  where  he  had  dismounted. 
His  horse  seemed  to  have  strayed  into  the 
shadows  of  this  covert ;  but  as  he  approached 
him,  he  was  amazed  to  see  that  it  was  not 
his  own,  and  that  a  woman's  scarf  was  lying 
over  its  side-saddle.  A  wild  idea  seized 
him,  and  found  expression  in  an  impulsive 
cry  :  — 

"Alice!" 

The  woods  echoed  it ;  there  was  an  inter 
val  of  silence,  and  then  a  faint  response. 
But  it  was  her  voice.  He  ran  eagerly  for 
ward  in  that  direction,  and  called  again  ;  the 
response  was  nearer  this  time,  and  then  the 
tall  ferns  parted,  and  her  lithe,  graceful 
figure  came  running,  stumbling,  and  limping 
towards  him  like  a  wounded  fawn.  Her 
face  was  pale  and  agitated,  the  tendrils  of 
her  light  hair  were  straying  over  her  shoulder, 
and  one  of  the  sleeves  of  her  school-gown 
was  stained  with  blood  and  dust.  He  caught 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.       201 

the  white  and  trembling  hands  that  were 
thrust  out  to  him  eagerly. 

"It  is  you !  "  she  gasped.  "  I  prayed  for 
some  one  to  come,  but  I  did  not  dream  it 
would  be  you.  And  then  I  heard  your 
voice  -*-  and  I  thought  it  could  be  only  a 
dream  until  you  called  a  second  time." 

"  But  you  are  hurt,"  he  exclaimed  pas 
sionately.  "  You  have  met  with  some  acci 
dent  !  " 

"  No,  no  !  "  she  said  eagerly.  "  Not  / 
-  but  a  poor,  poor  man  I  found  lying  on 
the  edge  of  the  cliff.  I  could  not  help  him 
much,  I  did  not  care  to  leave  him.  No  one 
would  come  !  I  have  been  with  him  alone, 
all  the  morning !  Come  quick,  he  may  be 
dying." 

He  passed  his  arm  around  her  waist 
unconsciously;  she  permitted  it  as  uncon 
sciously,  as  he  half  supported  her  figure 
while  they  hurried  forward. 

"  He  had  been  crushed  by  something,  and 
was  just  hanging  over  the  ledge,  and  could 
not  move  nor  speak,"  she  went  on  quickly. 
"  I  dragged  him  away  to  a  tree,  —  it  took 
me  hours  to  move  him,  he  was  so  heavy,  — 
and  I  got  him  some  water  from  the  stream 


202      IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

and  bathed  his  face,   and  blooded   all  my 
sleeve." 

"  But  what  were  you  doing  here  ?  "  he 
asked  quickly. 

A  faint  blush  crossed  the  pallor  of  her 
delicate  cheek.  She  looked  away  quickly. 
"I  —  was  going  to  find  my  brother  at 
Bald  Top,"  she  replied  at  last  hurriedly. 
"  But  don't  ask  me  now  —  only  come  quick, 
do." 

"Is  the  wounded  man  conscious?  Did 
you  speak  with  him  ?  Does  he  know  who 
you  are  ?  "  asked  Key  uneasily. 

"  No  !  he  only  moaned  a  little  and  opened 
his  eyes  when  I  dragged  him.  I  don't  think 
he  even  knew  what  had  happened." 

They  hurried  on  again.  The  wood  light 
ened  suddenly.  «  Here  I  "  she  said  in  a  half 
whisper,  and  stepped  timidly  into  the  open 
light.  Only  a  few  feet  from  the  fatal  ledge, 
against  the  roots  of  a  buckeye,  with  her 
shawl  thrown  over  him,  lay  the  wounded 
man. 

Key  started  back.     It  was  Collinson  ! 
His  head  and  shoulders  seemed  uninjured  ; 
but  as  Key  lifted  the  shawl,  he  saw  that  the 
long,  lank   figure    appeared    to  melt  away 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.       203 

below  the  waist  into  a  mass  of  shapeless 
and  dirty  rags.  Key  hurriedly  replaced  the 
shawl,  and,  bending  over  him,  listened  to 
his  hurried  respiration  and  the  beating  of 
his  heart.  Then  he  pressed  a  drinking-flask 
to  his  lips.  The  spirit  seemed  to  revive 
him  ;  he  slowly  opened  his  eyes.  They  fell 
upon  Key  with  quick  recognition.  But  the 
look  changed  ;  one  could  see  that  he  was 
trying  to  rise,  but  that  no  movement  of  the 
limbs  accompanied  that  effort  of  will,  and 
his  old  patient,  resigned  look  returned.  Key 
shuddered.  There  was  some  injury  to  the 
spine.  The  man  was  paralyzed. 

"  I  can't  get  up,  Mr.  Key,"  he  said  in  a 
faint  but  untroubled  voice,  "  nor  seem  to 
move  my  arms,  but  you  '11  just  allow  that 
I  've  shook  hands  with  ye  —  all  the  same." 
44  How  did  this  happen?"  said  Key 
anxiously. 

"Thet's  wot  gets  me!  Sometimes  I 
reckon  I  know,  and  sometimes  I  don't. 
Lyin'  thar  on  thet  ledge  all  last  night,  and 
only  jest  able  to  look  down  into  the  old  val 
ley,  sometimes  it  seemed  to  me  ez  if  I  fell 
over  and  got  caught  in  the  rocks  trying  to 
save  my  wife ;  but  then  when  I  kem  to 


204      IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

think  sensible,  and  know  my  wife  wasn't 
there  at  all,  I  get  mystified.  Sometimes  I 
think  I  got  ter  thinkin'  of  my  wife  only 
when  this  yer  young  gal  thet  's  bin  like 
an  angel  to  me  kem  here  and  dragged 
me  off  the  ledge,  for  you  see  she  don't  be 
long  here,  and  hez  dropped  on  to  me  like  a 
sperrit." 

"  Then  you  were  not  in  the  house  when 
the  shock  came  ?  "  said  Key. 

"  No.  You  see  the  mill  was  filled  with 
them  fellers  as  the  sheriff  was  arter,  and  it 
went  over  with  'em  —  and  I  " 

"Alice,"  said  Key,  with  a  white  face, 
"  would  you  mind  going  to  my  horse,  which 
you  will  find  somewhere  near  yours,  and 
bringing  me  a  medicine  case  from  my  sad 
dle-bags?" 

The  innocent  girl  glanced  quickly  at  her 
companion,  saw  the  change  in  his  face,  and, 
attributing  it  to  the  imminent  danger  of  the 
injured  man,  at  once  glided  away.  When 
she  was  out  of  hearing,  Key  leaned  gravely 
over  him :  — 

"  Collinson,  I  must  trust  you  with  a 
secret.  I  am  afraid  that  this  poor  girl  who 
helped  you  is  the  sister  of  the  leader  of 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.       207 

ness,  by  a  singular  return  of  his  old  abstrac 
tion  and  forgetfulness  in  the  midst  of  a  sen 
tence,  and  at  last  by  a  fit  of  coughing,  that 
left  a  few  crimson  bubbles  on  the  corners  of 
his  mouth.  Key  lifted  his  eyes  anxiously ; 
there  was  some  grave  internal  injury,  which 
the  dying  man's  resolute  patience  had  sup 
pressed.  Yet,  at  the  sound  of  Alice's  re 
turning  step,  Collinson's  eyes  brightened, 
apparently  as  much  at  her  coming  as  from 
the  effect  of  the  powerful  stimulant  Key  had 
taken  from  his  medicine  case. 

"  I  thank  ye,  Mr.  Key,"  he  said  faintly ; 
"  for  I  've  got  an  idea  I  ain't  got  no  great 
time  before  me,  and  I  Ve  got  suthin'  to  say 
to  you,  afore  witnesses  "  -  his  eyes  sought 
Alice's  in  half  apology  —  "  afore  witnesses, 
you  understand.  Would  you  mind  standin' 
out  thar,  afore  me,  in  the  light,  so  I  kin  see 
you  both,  and  you,  miss,  rememberin',  ez  a 
witness,  suthin'  I  got  to  tell  to  him?  You 
might  take  his  hand,  miss,  to  make  it  more 
regular  and  lawlike." 

The  two  did  as  he  bade  them,  standing 
side  by  side,  painfully  humoring  what 
seemed  to  them  to  be  wanderings  of  a  dying 
man. 


208       IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

"  Thar  was  a  young  fellow,"  said  Collin- 
son  in  a  steady  voice,  "  ez  kem  to  my  shanty 
a  night  ago  on  his  way  to  the  —  the  —  val 
ley.  He  was  a  sprightly  young  fellow,  gay 
and  chipper-like,  and  he  sez  to  me,  confi- 
dential-like,  '  Collinson,'  sez  he,  4 1  'm  off  to 
the  States  this  very  night  on  business  of  im 
portance  ;  mebbe  I  '11  be  away  a  long  time 
—  for  years !  You  know,'  sez  he,  c  Mr. 
Key,  in  the  Hollow !  Go  to  him,'  sez  he, 
'  and  tell  him  ez  how  I  had  n't  time  to  get  to 
see  him ;  tell  him,'  sez  he,  '  that  Rivers  '  - 
you  've  got  the  name,  Mr.  Key  ?  —  you  've 
got  the  name,  miss  ?  —  '  that  Rivers  wants 
him  to  say  this  to  his  little  sister  from  her 
lovin'  brother.  And  tell  him,'  sez  he,  this 
yer  Rivers,  '  to  look  arter  her,  being  alone.' 
You  remember  that,  Mr.  Key?  you  remem 
ber  it,  miss  ?  You  see,  I  remembered  it, 
too,  being,  so  to  speak,  alone  myself  "  —  he 
paused,  and  added  in  a  faint  whisper  — 
"  till  now." 

Then  he  was  silent.  That  innocent  lie 
was  the  first  and  last  upon  his  honest  lips  ; 
for  as  they  stood  there,  hand  in  hand,  they 
saw  his  plain,  hard  face  take  upon  itself,  at 
first,  the  gray,  ashen  hues  of  the  rocks  around 


IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS.       209 

him,  and  then  and  thereafter  something  of 
the  infinite  tranquillity  and  peace  of  that 
wilderness  in  which  he  had  lived  and  died, 
and  of  which  he  was  a  part. 

Contemporaneous  history  was  less  kindly. 
The  "  Bald  Top  Sentinel  "  congratulated  its 
readers  that  the  late  seismic  disturbance  was 
accompanied  with  very  little  loss  of  life,  if 
any.  "It  is  reported  that  the  proprietor  of 
a  low  shebeen  for  emigrants  in  an  obscure 
hollow  had  succumbed  from  injuries ;  but," 
added  the  editor,  with  a  fine  touch  of  West 
ern  humor,  "  whether  this  was  the  result  of 
his  being  forcibly  mixed  up  with  his  own 
tanglefoot  whiskey  or  not,  we  are  unable  to 
determine  from  the  evidence  before  us." 
For  all  that,  a  small  stone  shaft  was  added 
later  to  the  rocks  near  tho  site  of  the  old 
mill,  inscribed  to  the  memory  of  this  obscure 
"proprietor,"  with  the  singular  legend: 
"  Have  ye  faith  like  to  him  ?  "  And  those 
who  knew  only  of  the  material  catastrophe, 
looking  around  upon  the  scene  of  desolation 
it  commemorated,  thought  grimly  that  it 
must  be  faith  indeed,  and  —  were  wiser  than 
they  knew. 


210      IN  A  HOLLOW  OF  THE  HILLS. 

"  You  smiled,  Don  Preble,"  said  the  Lady 
Superior  to  Key  a  few  weeks  later,  "  when  I 
told  to  you  that  many  caballeros  thought  it 
most  discreet  to  intrust  their  future  brides 
to  the  maternal  guardianship  and  training 
of  the  Holy  Church ;  yet,  of  a  truth,  I  meant 
not  you.  And  yet  —  eh !  well,  we  shall  see." 


I 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 


AN  INITIAL  FINE  OF  25  CENTS 

WILL  BE  ASSESSED  FOR  FAILURE  TO  RETURN 
THIS  BOOK  ON  THE  DATE  DUE.  THE  PENALTY 
WILL  INCREASE  TO  SO  CENTS  ON  THE  FOURTH 
DAY  AND  TO  $I.OO  ON  THE  SEVENTH  DAY 
OVERDUE. 


APR  10  1936 


AUG  17  1958 


*y* 


lartSA! 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


